Mysteries as Love’s Epistles - A Poetic Perambulation

Poem taken from the book THE MEMPHIS NIGHTCLUB MURDERS & Other Poetic Mysteries, now available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Books-A-Million and many others in paperback, hardbound and ebook (click on book cover below)...

Mysteries as Love’s Epistles

~ A Poetic Perambulation ~

From sunlit porticos, upon ivied columns along corridors

Twinges pitch hence pang, at pith and pit of inner core

Flesh twain, apart, the distancing bane, liken fleeing harts

Per hunt, such harm by hubris, with this, Ego’s abstract art

Beneath cool archways and arbors, hanging so voluptuous

Blooms of petals dewed, swelled skins of fruit sensuous

Timid as tumid, lust slows then grows, as passions insist

Twitching the lips, twisting the tongues, until pair by tryst

Hesitant she as desirous, impressions still as indecisions

Reluctant he as delirious by abstractions, her divinations

Or by intoxications, he dreams in trance mid funeral pyres

With tambourine she dances, as gypsies `round ritual fires

Stung then the lies, alas foregone shit stings like thistles

Forget they must, to trust the mysteries as Love’s epistles

Low the tears, hard as rain, from cheek to breasts the mist

Stained shirt, strained skirt by four hands vised as one fist

Pressed till wrested, palms to palms, fingers form coitus

Side by side, thigh feels thigh, sighs until cries arduous

Night falls like Turin shroud, as one hundred candles burn

Akin to moths, they flit and flutter o’er hurts, each in turn

O to learn from past spurns, withal, hearts always callow

Within fervor’s fury, Passion smolders as cloth in tallow

Beguiled, wiled, maybe a bit maudlin (often lovers’ coffin)

Such uncoiling as mortals collide, an erotic storm therein

Singed wings by old flings, or some other goddamn thing

Wounds to scars, hang far into mind, on sullied brass rings

Liken black-lighted rooms, archetypal galleries of Self-art

Jungian pelf on psychotic carts, pile high as none departs

No one imparts dissimilar, for bent as this is quite familiar

Mortals’ birthright, Strife (oft miswritten as Life), millers

As such, and much if not all, burns as fire, as well warms

Ill, fraught, still sought, some reason amid passion’s norms

Two souls stumble and struggle, past the doors and closets

Down Fear’s hall, groping mid walls scrawled with posits

Harshest of truths, rarely sleuthed, either animus or anima

Keener incubus, or inner vox humana as morning’s manna

Ergo subtle nuances, so it goes, snakes in pile, calm or riled

Good portends, while Evil pretends, as sanity slips into exile

To Patmos isle, upon insanity’s bile, to flirt in foolish mirth

Misanthropes de trop or not, tho’ hoping of one logical firth

Oh Love rebirths, seemingly recherché among worldly frays

Swirling displays; corpses rigor-ed, souls cold, hearts filleted

As well minds abysmal, yea, the warmth by fervid baptismal

Regardless the chances dismal, or tenacious choices chrismal

Onerous to bedchamber, beyond last tread and rise, thus run

By Godspeed, hand o’er foot, sweat on brow, neither outdone

Alas cursed by sad verse, John Donne’s madness his sorrow

"Anguish'd, not that 'twas sin, but that 'twas she", a fervid woe

Twin in throes, thrust into lustful trust, their melding flesh

As continents clash, or welding of steel, white hot the mesh

Paramours threshing out the Love, without doubt or pause

Hesitation now epicurean determination, their shared cause

To floor the vase shatters, water splatters and roses scatter

Prurient the groans swore, more variant the moans blather

Dethroned then devoured, Pride as well the whore Despair

A sudden Diaspora, by Love diademed and Passion the heir

Brawn, sinew, muscle and tendon, desires flex then stretch

Unto four corners ‘low canopy’s lace, each sniff and scratch

Along nape and back, wet and etch anew, as bloody tattoos

Entwined or strewn upon the satin, flooding senses of two

Skewed their sprawled dimensions, queued the raw tension

Lewd within Love’s lexicon, tongues’ unknown expressions

Mouths uttering low, lips stuttering slow at midlands’ gist

Kissed the hushes, `tween the rushes, as agog gushes insist

Resist not did they, dyad to plait, anon unbraided to repeat

Oft encircling, akin Greco grapplers in Romanesque heat

By arabesque feats, thus eiderdown tossed, flesh glossed

Sheets moist as shaded moss, ah the choice to rid the dross

To passionately joust no further, as lust wanes to cincture

So to pine (unlike Young Werther, lacking bane’s venture)

While both souls longingly smolder, their censers by vesper

Unfettered festering, skin on skin, `low night air’s whispers

From sunlit porticos, upon ivied columns along tomorrows

Twinges pitch hence pang, at pith and pit by forth-sorrows

Yet to love once, twice, thrice else ceaselessly, heedlessly

Of all others’ druthers or mutters, two utter adrift virtuously

Graced by thirty winters she, faced dilemmas odd by threes

Or singly so, third worst among throes, a cancerous decree

Thou cruel Dancer, well versed in Womb’s ascetic suffering

More, Tomb’s poetic suffrage, futile the swain’s thwarting

Erstwhile, the swan’s hoarding, raw secrets mid romances

Chance upon advances, time aft’ time aft’ fuckin’ chances

Wronged by illiterate flirts, withdrawn per itinerant hurts

Intended or not, pretended her lot, along tearstained shirts

He by solitude in surplus, she of dawn till dusk, imminent

Independently sufficient, although, separately reminiscent

One dried burnt-sienna rose, espoused `twixt sacred breasts

Laid by poet fraught, yet orbs heave not at Death’s behest

Sonnets with arias, so plummet from summits sabbatical

Canticles fanatical, equally, odes unfold in woes viatical

Devils as wolves, lurk in his literature, then empty pitcher

Love pours, from bottle mid lips to floor, as poetic stricture

Breath faltered as Life slipped, his hand she ceased to grip

“The stars…to be one” eclipsed by lisp, from her pale lips

To replay again and again, as sand spills, grain by grain

Between fingers, memories linger, pain damns then reigns

By ashes she fell, o’er upper Appalachia, to the lower dells

He dashes and scales, five cataracts, veils to slower swells

Per swirling facts in hurling pell-mell, a disturbing motion

Rekindling emotion, reviving a devotion for their locutions

Mêlées lyrical, sways literal, as one ancient, poetical soul

Rarely so, possessing two modern minds in untold strolls

Within images stirred, by words, metaphors or apologues

An endless epic, dialogue without prologue, nor epilogue

In fist tightly, per fits nightly, a tarnished, bloodied crucifix

Whispers bleed from lips, as oaths of gods o’er river Styx

Transfixed betwixt, between two ends, the insisting mean

Persisting mode, poetry flows, in crowded solitude unseen

Ah the passions prolonged, by every zephyr brushing hands

Like her breath then, hot on flesh, as shadows in hinterland

Form in brain, upon each rain, shedding she the shroud wet

In silence he loudly vets, as often Love hauntingly begets

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Copyright © 2017 by D.C. Quillan Stone