Читать книгу Collage of Seoul - Jae Newman - Страница 12

This same poem, unsaid,

in a thousand lonely mouths,

each holding a pencil

torching lead love letters

in long, arching graphite rainbows.

Jasmine leaves shade the light

but when the sun sets,

when everything is dark,

when my eyes are worthless,

my heaven is always only

an inch away from the world.

It is the distance my fingers travel

when I touch your spine,

the center of the universe,

reciting those archaic words, I love you.

Adrenal ash spread over the lip

of a blue flame; love; water

on the orchid of wanting

to be found and clipped by you.

This vase, Pyrex, is a bed, of course,

as my hand, lost in the tectonics of your back,

removes the cosmos with my daily trespass,

as fingers climb that little mountain

where enlightenment is held in an open box

by Aurora, who greets me coldly,

in white gloves. Even a goddess knows

that her hands are not fit to hold my love of you,

the words of a love child

closing the distance of a god

down to the length of a ring finger.