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Sub Rosa Nov 2013
'love and miss you'

Oh lord! The skies have cleared,
I have seen the sun at last!
Such a touching message from
father to daughter,
a letter of unconditional love
for your offspring!
All faults must be erased and
we have reached forgiveness at last!
Alert the community!
Assemble the clergy!
Release the doves
and ring the bells!
The world must hear of your
love and sacrifice
for a daughter a thousand miles away!
We rejoice!
May the children dance and
the people sing,
we come together in celebration of
love and life!
The deep and concrete connection
between two generations
of one family!
Call down the angels!
Bless, with your heavenly fingers,
the man who has the audacity
to express to his only daughter
such honest and heartfelt emotion!
To give his heart
to the girl he sees just once a year
and calls every six months!
How he must love her so!
And may she reply with a simple message:

'you too'

for it is all she can manage to say
to a man who is all but
a stranger.
Sub Rosa Nov 2013
I wonder about the eyes and the lips.
If they would have held a reflection of yours.
Maybe the hair was the same texture,
a replica of your youth
which you have lost.
Would you have changed your mind?
If you had seen the fingers and toes,
a perfect count of ten,
and the cream of it's alabaster hands.
Sometimes I wish there were small words
to call my name,
and sometimes I am glad
for your barren womb
for I know of your temptations and weakness
the dust in your bones
as your young body ages beyond
reasonable years.
For the smoke was toxic in your nostrils,
did a bundle of Jefferson's
burn a hole in your pocket?
Only virgins wear white on their wedding day,
was your a dusty beige
clashing with the grey tux
of a criminal?
A man who has a title branded on his
filthy hands, that he touched that girl with,
til death
do you part?
How much justice did you desire for those fingers
after they were clasped around your thick neck?
So I pray your blood keeps pumping and your
brain still buzzes
after every hit,
and I pray the fog clears before your checks don't
and maybe you will extinguish the flames
before your lungs give out
just like your knees did that day.
They ignore your dodgy glances to the side,
your hands, aftershocks of the quaking nerves inside you.
They see past your sudden skeletal visage
and the grey tint in your cheeks
like you have sat on a shelf, sagging and
collecting particles.
But I taste your abuse,
every flavor of it.
As long as you live through your high,
you wont have face your low.
We are thankful everyday
for your blessing
of infertility.
Sub Rosa Nov 2013
If only my
l e t t e r s
would meld
as do the
c o l o u r s
on my canvas

maybe then I could be an
a r t i s t
Sub Rosa Nov 2013
I can't handle the caffeine as it rushes through my arteries.
When you know you need to keep moving
but the taste on your tongue is bitter with
swollen memories grown to large
to shelter in the heels of your feet.
Slows you down with the weight of every jaded moment
you ever thought about the vacancy
in your own lungs
or sinking your  hands in icy water.
So maybe you're the one who's drowning,
Maybe you need a break from tracing maps with your eyes
looking for the safest route back to the banks
of the river you lost yourself in as a child.
And can you call me when you're feeling well again?
Let me know sickness is the only obstacle we have to conquer
before our world erupts into fire when we come together at the close.
With our bodies braced against the walls,
we awake into the dawn's light
where our weary bones
ache no more.
And all I needed was a cup of coffee
to keep me up
till I saw you again.
more prose than anything
and full of old memories and
dreams of lights we walked beneath
on that long trip back home.
Sub Rosa Nov 2013
Your fingers ache from the cold, from looming in the shadows
cast by an invisible moon tucked behind the clouds.
Your throat burns with memories and visions
embodied by the fiery wand between
your teeth.

Women sway to an inaudible music,
and swirls of smoke become pools
where the fish jump
without fear of the fisherman.

Inhaling the portraits of lonely widows
and rotted men who have loved only bottles.
Perhaps they will find their peace
in those shriveling lungs.

With a cleansing exhale into the vacant darknss,
jubilant creatures frolic in mists of grey and white,
twirling round your spinning head,
mouths agape in mid-song
and hooves tapping together
to the same melody as the maidens.

You hear no music, only the groan of an old house to your back
where you have come from seeking refuge in the hospitality
of your sweet nicotine lips.
Waving away these spirits of smoke
vanishing behind those sullen walls,
leaving only a still-burning stub
smoldering lonesome

in ******
snow.
you can tell I wrote this at one a.m.
exhaustion colours my words.
Sub Rosa Nov 2013
The fog of our breath
in deep december darkness
is the love we crave.
Sub Rosa Nov 2013
I dry out on nights like these.
When words and phrases elude my lips
and I'm parched,
thirsty for a good verse.
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