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When Love Blooms a Life Is Lost
By Rudolph Lewis
Romance is a
fool’s splintered wound—
you and I scratching beneath bed
covers
damp bodies spinning
lights in a bazaar
We pander ourselves
to daydreams
to a proud trophy of
booty in hand
an ordeal seduced by
mere appearance
JB’s
“Bewildered”
funks
in dark
corners of a never
finished, teasing
dance of swerving hips,
belly to belly
After a dip in the
bowl of self-deface
we wipe our lips
with a lack of familiarity
our terror of goat
bones is unbearable
With the sun’s
memory, water slides
off the ledge of a narrow slippery cave
hidden in a flaming
grotto of dark moss
A numbing fire of
vain ghosts shivers
in the loneliness
exacted from chunks
of slow healing
flesh split in two
What we do for love
is a sore revenge
that burns even
prophets at Ground Zero
a border operation
that watches the self
The world tumbles
down like pillars—
trust that leads to
salvation now in ruins
we taste lifeblood
in a draft of breath
16 April 2004 |