all copyright meaghan boeing, 2000-2006
roaring, polluted,
heavenly,
tainted.
the ocean
greets the winter
sun
like madness.
sweeping away
the
shoreline and
the questions of
the souls
who stand in
wonder
my sweet,
my time, my air,
my fallen bones -
my fortress walls
have slimed in caved disuse.
my shaking arms
stay braced
beside my hips,
and i stand,
too shy to tell
what poetry assaults
my ears.
as silence lands upon
my tongue,
its drop
by drop
a leisurely disguise,
you move
and suddenly
the sky
has dropped its veil
upon your shoulders
like a
cape
that hides your
fleeing steps from dawm.
move your
hand to
my neck - trace the
line of my words
from mouth
down jaw and
cheek to
the stretch of neck
and sighing
breath
that hides in the
wreath of my ribs
the miasma of this
sunny gotham
crusts in ears and
at the corners of eyes,
lodges itself in
our lungs
until our voices blend
with the mountains
we cannot see.
we speak as if we
have forgotten.
as the night is
elegantly
still,
holding herself superior
to the
whims of the weather
and the
inexorable procession
of the seasons,
it is these
midnights
that
suspend
the rush of time,
and form
illusion
of
breathless eternity
that is
broken by breathing
and breeze,
the music of bones
and
movement of the
surrounding flesh.
what warm
desolation
your
absence leaves,
a breathing
hole
steaming with memory
and
a dark, dark
vibrancy
that both
swallows and swells
my
loneliness.
such endings as this
that
feel like nothing
like wind
passing softly slowly
over a night
field,
the topography of an exposed soul,
leaving no shape
that time
could not wear
to memory.
he-love;
the embodiment
of desert rain
and roses.
swimming in the hollows
of Georgian bones
it is you i see
in her too-blue
sky.
