Thursday, 12 August 2010

Two Mystics

You stand cursed with insight – too much to look at
A dirty look smiles so easily,
Touches and un-touches; mouth pink tongue red as a poppy –
Liver-thick – it moves and shows itself once or twice.

I wish I had you; or the illusion of you,
Dangerous as ideas, hot as my spiralling blood,
A body – quite short – skin of a female god,

I have had to give you Goethe and a burst of Medusa,
Always there, talking at a distance –
Touching and un-touching,
I have given you less than your smiles –

You shrink like a pupil, Havva in late afternoon sun,
I have given you hardly a thing,
Rings around the wrist, a drink a drink –

I am seeing everything in you
Nothing happens – the world ends at your look.
Do you have anyone? Are you with someone?
Still attached at the hip and waist, smiles out of place,

I have had to kill every bit of red shame,
Bursts into flame, holds like a tunic, shares the same look,
I have had to look into your eye – brown and white –
Held there quick, in a box of fright.

Will I ever get you, or you get me?
We are stuck inside one another – mysticalstill.

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