Poem taken from the book THE MEMPHIS NIGHTCLUB MURDERS & Other Poetic Mysteries, now published to be released in paperback, hardbound and ebook towards end of this month...
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
Copyright © 2017 by D.C. Quillan Stone
