Shattered Beauty, Broken Silhouettes
- Laying there languid,
- drown-dead in a fraught black ink, massless—
- That Cambridge Moleskine,
- perilous & perfected in Chaos’ brilliant prison…
- Spent, the soul
- trembles by eternity, is cut by words
- (Within the tome’s turmoil, laced & diamonded).
- All the while, it rests amidst the dust
- The depth of the day subsides;
- the silver silence of the night
- Stalks every cognitive scratch, snuffing its lustre, fervid & forgotten—
- rendering all unwritten…
- The Tybalt-massacre of morning breaks:
- the window’s light reveals, abashed, a cup of revelry.
- Pages torn, notes askew, flutter-puzzled
- by the enigma of poetry to be,
- That fired illumination,
- seeping into the paper’s colours
- caught in a kintsugi-kiln of divinity.
- The sunlit ecstasy of a golden aura, enticed.
- I turn back time
- to that day, November 13th, 2013.
- The first glance,
- an apparition that thunders shivers—
- Bittersweet as a stolen kiss, electrified.
- the transit, shuffles & seats this student before me.
- Her hair, bright-gilded as Margareta’s tresses
- falls in a trepidation-splendor,
- comet-tails a-spiraling! afore my speechless reverence.
- Her limber figure, shoots spikes of elation,
- as I look at the embroidery,
- Her stockings black vipers along her long legs—
- cut neatly by a red, red dress.
- A howling star of heavenly features superfine & sharp
- Screams beatitudes to me blindly boldly,
- as if a Florentine stonemason chiseled her face;
- The gods wrecked by jealousy & jest, infinite.
- she turns another page of her book, vexed—
- A political account of Chernobyl, that boils her very being;
- that weighty knowledge of death
- Flowers her heartstrings and thighs.
- A play of glances, and with each smile,
- the world is on sex.
- The scent of another woman before her, most pleasing.
- That way about her, living oceans, those direct eyes look at me. Engulfing me in love.
- I gaze back at my colleague, effortlessly transfixed.
- Flowing as a bird, I shadowed a European woman in a regal dress
- for a few steps, syncopated heartbeats—
- Betwixt kind flirting.
- Then, then, my friend—
- a woman of the orient, faculty and fertile.
- She swayed her hourglass hips,
- ever subtly,
- A pendulum,
- As she scaled the stairs in style.
- The fallen poet’s poem on beauty, half-torn and half-lost.
- Spencer dies a fool, today.
- She twirls her hair in knots, anticipating.
- A name-day cake, decadent, I yearn for wifely companionship warm.
- The scores of cream, a delight by her hand.
- She is keen to write more, this pre-law student—
- and I am ever so gentle with her,
- Pointing out the flaws of her argument;
- the learning continues as a lovely labour,
- And we exchange ambitions to meet
- upon one of Queen Mary’s balconies
- Staring over the river amidst midnight fires!
- Star-knotted by fate.
- Time catches up with me;
- night falls fast.
- I wait at a bus stop—a fellow beside me.
- he begins to talk,
Green scarfed & vagabond.
- his accent and quaint brown beard
- Brings a hearty presence, reciprocated.
- and we make quick of words, debating philosophies of love…
- As I learn about this wandering chef,
- from Montréal, Michelin-trained, internationally experienced
- Along the African coast and the ports of Queensland.
- a free spirit in tune with the gifts of the land;
- Harvesting fruits wherever they might fall,
- he plucks them as I search tirelessly,
- For that kindred lass
- to adore among these roughly beating suns
- That splinter our intentions, pure!
- and I was awestruck, heaven-cleft
- with that last impression, my sight regained.
- This day is but a memory—
- A broken silhouette.