(logan)
i would speak to you in
monotone,
black and white and that
inexplicable gray
that seeps into our best intentions
blanching them to somehow
less than noble.
for example: your last smile
once the vibrance of tangerines
has since faded to the
wan peach of stale lace, but this is no
tragedy; the lament is that I cannot
remember it in any other state
but that of lint and dust
and the accumulated sadness of
rust.
i would speak to you in
crystalline,
the edges sharp explosive as that
frozen nitroglycerine
that hardens between the joints of rock
until spring melts it to liquid
and the first summer thunderstorm
destroys mountains
for example: the fortress of your body,
once the consistency of mountains
has since eroded to the
bald granite trembling in the swollen river,
but beyond even this shame is that
I have no scars to show in my place
but imaginary powder burns from a gun
I would have used to protect you
that never fired straight
if it fired at all.
you turned your face from mine
to the wall
and I would now speak of healing
but you whispered:
hush now.
these desires are already rendered
obsolete
by a winter drought in this our
perpetually shallow pool
of words.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
Back to "normal" darkstar poetry, if there is such a thing. Which I doubt, at times.