Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Three by Lyn Lifshin

IN THE RICHEST DARK

not even there,
not in dreams,
nothing past the
touch of bodies
in a dance where
what isn’t could
make you cry with
fear and awe and
longing, that light
touch like some
vow that only
makes me feel
more close, a dark
full of ghosts, a
dark I can’t even
dream you in

#

WHEN I CAN’T STILL FEEL THE LONGING


when those mahogany
eyes are lost as
horses in thick fog
and I don’t even try to
dream you skin
closer than fingers
and thighs in a sizzling
tango. When what
glazed and glittered
but was deadly, when
dark in your head’s
black ice melts and no
thing is as terrifying
as the gun of wanting
you, pressed to the
back of my head
slides away, I never
felt so alive

#

WHEN I CAN’T STILL FEEL THE LONGING


when those mahogany
eyes are lost as
horses in thick fog
and I don’t even try to
dream you skin
closer than fingers
and thighs in a sizzling
tango. When what
glazed and glittered
but was deadly, when
dark in your head’s
black ice melts and no
thing is as terrifying
as the gun of wanting
you, pressed to the
back of my head
slides away, I never
felt so alone

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