So many hours of silence for each word
we speak. Our lives are full and spent apart.
Distance means every word dropped in my heart
falls heavy with significance. Absurd
to let a simple cross or smiling face
feel like caresses. Tell me that you blush
reading my poems, there's a fever rush
that thrills my bones. These things cannot replace
watching you breathe, watching you sit and draw,
face serious as if I were not there
Or twist a finger in a curl of hair
or tease a kitten, finger batting paw.
We chat. You read my verse. Small things and yet
it is enough. We take what we can get.
...who wanted something to relieve her pain.
Left, tricked, betrayed, I call to Love and Hell
Sweet Venus in a rage, Hecate who waits
to help when all is lost, I seek your help.
The boy is gone to whom I gave my heart.
The boy I made a man has turned his face.
May he drip pus from every stinging boil!
I've gathered herbs and set them on a boil.
Clashed little cymbals that were forged in Hell
I look in mirrors at my anguished face
Streaked with the tears of one who sits and waits
for him. He never calls; he broke my heart
Goddesses, Furies, I invoke your help.
I will survive him, smash him, with your help.
Though love and pain and hatred simmer boil
through all four chambers of my aching heart
like pitch as black as that which flows in Hell
pull me apart as if I'm chained to weights
spinning in all directions. Every face
I see looks like him. Scorn in every face
That turns away from me. Refusing help.
Revenge is better. If one only waits
It comes. I want it now. Let anger boil
invoking love turned bitter, greedy Hell
The cauldron of my spells seethes like my heart
Take from him all his beauty, break his heart
He fucked her, let her nails scratch at his face
until his cheeks burn like the fires of Hell1
He'll seek out ointments that will never help
Each scratch will suppurate, turn to a boil
but that's not all. For my worst vengeance waits.
Let me find happiness, with one who waits
for me to find them. Let them cure my heart
and may he watch with envy.Let him boil
in impotent resenment. Let his face
Be marred, and let his heart know there's no help
and may his lonely life become a Hell.
Love comes to her who waits. I'll wipe my face
vengeance will cure my heart first. That will help.
The cauldron boils. My spells take him to Hell.
So much we never get to feel – the taste
of wine and glitter on your lips, the sound
of triumph that I make when I've just found
the perfect rhyme. Both of us have replaced
the person that we've met but hardly know
with sketches. So I colour in blank space
each time we write online and guess the face
you'd pull saying those words. The glow
of spotlit greygreen eyes rather too bright
for realism. Everyone does this
We know we're doing it. When lovers kiss
It's shadow selves that snuggle up at night.
Dear fellow artist, let's collaborate
fall for those better selves that we'll create.