A. E. J. Y.

Luminous places are
Nimble to be darker
Not of velvet-tinted
Light-sipping lamps,
But scent of palls
Taps on their doors

So are people,
Some say

Skeletal malice
Through gossamer lattice
Meets the threads
Vibrating each breath
Its ungraceful steps
Wet the sky heavier,
And one’s either Atlas,
Or flees in despair

Ignoring this order
Of desperate dualism
Lovers disappear too

After all they are experts, at going beyond two –
Holding the heavens
Of each other’s moons
They blur in the gold
Of silken cocoons

Ceremonial marble crucibles.
Bleeds white wine
From bitten teats
The celestial rag, its
Unmotherly dry stars
Twinkle, in pain.
An impromptu thoracentesis.
The night soars.

From our roof
We’ll await new mornings
(not really so much)