dead roses...

i think of the words you left me…
i imagine what they meant
coiled inside dead roses, black linen
innuendo curling the edges…
the acidic moisture of your tongue
clipping each syllable…
how you hate what i lack in
substance, surfeit, sensuality…
as you imagine i harbor my center,
keeping you forever adrift
denying you what you seek most in me…

the denouement is silence, a deadly void…
no retribution, no accusations;
vapor over pyres steaming in cold repression,
hissing half-truths hurled from on high.
petals of love once caressing, wrapping us
in secret harmony
turned poisonous, each syllable a psychic prick
exposing jealous asides
as we turn our backs on each other and wait
for the other to return,
knowing the inevitability of never…

love is fragile, beheaded blossoms
bleeding layers of loss,
pressed and pasted inside tissued tiers…
broken promises boxed,
set aside but never examined for shadows,
retching rejection in plastic bottles;
death of dreams and passion acknowledged
packed in trunks – put away…
yet anxiety lingers like left-over aroma,
perfumed saga of madness
in the unending aftermath of denial…

dead roses
by ja allen
prism gates

death throes...

when i look deep into your eyes i see my reflection...
rain streams down the window panes,
wishing away desire…
grief haunts the shadows of your face
as you bend over me,
my tears merely a memory imprint…

slowly you slide the pillow
over my face,
pressing down gently but firmly…
murmurs that i love you
remain repressed and internal…
stilled in the vacuum of your intent…

my empty arms seek to encompass you…
my lips long to kiss you
and whisper darling – as always…
but you do not relinquish;
you press down again and again…
never releasing me from your iron grip

i sink further – my struggles lessen…
i cannot counter the ceaseless pressure
that leaves me muted, unrealized…
my mind cries out for succor
realizing that i do not wish to die…
crucified by your calculated detachment…

i love you with unlimited devotion…
i crave the heat of your passion and the
depth of your need – i wove the fabric of our longing
into this mythical quilt covering us,
allowing the exploration of our blended souls…
you are my eternal heaven, my soul mate…

yet you will this premature death for lack of feeling –
the sensation of touch;
you abandon eternal affirmation and commitment
seeking perfection in another form…
in one you can hold and cleave to;
replacing salvation with sensuality…

nothing will supplant my love for you…as
long as you live the sun will forever fail to
warm your blood and heat your inestimable passion
like the dead love you hold at arm’s length…

death throes
prism gates
ja allen