Burning Both Ends

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A
flicker,
a stare,
fires the
column,
bled bare,
by the pale
yellow, violet
flame
as

its gliding wax
grips and its rhythmic drip sets fast,
and not unlike our game.
The Slowness of time
runs with our thoughts down
this vine as I tease the quick
with scorched fingers. And, as
is your want, you navigate me,
and like moths, we
self destruct when we linger.
A stolid breath of air soon releases our
stares, and we flinch in the
flame’s parting sigh;
its sulphuric stench from the quickening
wrench, reminds me of that
stark light – as
sleeping birds hum
and a candlelit morn draws nigh.

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Amrita

fig110-700x336                                           Picture: Los Alamos National Laboratory

As dark nights prevail and stars
make you ordinary, you will yearn
whilst you struggle outside of me,

caught up in heaving times
pressed close to chest.

I am made up of hundreds
and you knew who I was –
till I married him –

worship me still
amid cold comforts lost –

pray, come back inside,
leave naivety at the door
lest you succumb, but beckon it not.

 

Colour my World

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Draw the Junoesque shapes of me,
colour my world fantastically,
shade with depth and imagination,
sketch my past
into oblivion –
paint me with your words.

Blush my cheeks, awash with hope,
use knife edge, brutal and excited strokes,
draw me in with a mad, brush crush,
red ochre
flamed onto canvas –
don’t paint me with your smoke.

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