DeThrust

Oh subtle
Oh sudden!
closeness of withdraw
backwards slide over
hands and veins
liquid spills
until no squeeze
left to hold
you
uneager at thought
of such wet
open door softly
banging in hot breeze
don't need to go
only so many streets
to walk
only so many houses
with yellow lights
dark shapes caught in nets
still stale of curtains
a voice carries over
static on the line
static on the line

receivers drop
weep into my hands

Now was not the Time

to feel such hot breath
fanning my jugular
such reaction
the pulse there, just there

or to feel your sweat be -
coming into film noir lights
out, sprawled across such
wide sofa of discontent

the very one where she sat
or sits just as this very moment
her nostrils flaring ever so
towards the pungence of my scent.

The Archer

Her eyes two slits, precise as arrow
loops, turned parallel to earth and sky.
The plain was wide, horizon stretched
elastic as the linen string pulled taut
against her chest, her limbs as narrow
as the precious longbow made of yew
back to belly, sapwood to heart

chin cupped as soft as Cupid’s
iron adorned with Quail fletch
bound with sinew as if to bone, ivory
thumb-ring wrapped against pain of draw.
She stood erect, width of foot to width
of shoulder, left side to his, three
fingers poised as if to pluck a delicate
harp. She stood unconscious, blind

to sight– there was no noise, save for
sudden movement of their hidden
song, warm tongue of fleshy pull
whoosh of flight, an earthly thud.
Her form collapsed around itself
recoiled in the torment of her mark.
Two bodies fell together, softly
as purple clovers swathed black fields.