something like sehnsucht

do it just because.

because of the flower
in my hair.
the silver wing
around my neck.

because the blue
changes shade
dependent on her mood.

because the wind
blows through the house
and rattles all the windows.

because we are all corners
and curves.
not one or the other.
but both.
or none.

do it mouth to mouth
and break the skin.

do it because im cannibalistic
in my desire for offerings
of blood and guts.
deeper than transparent things
like raindrops and tears.

because there are only
so many times
you will see the moon full.

do it only completely
when you feel it
pressed hard against your edges.
a haunting or possession
tightly held by ghostly hands.

do it because to not is to lose it.

because i want to see
my fingerprints.
everywhere...

even still is moving

maurizio anzeri

*

dream places,
like all fragile things,
are always best
in winter

when the sun is low
and shadows long.

when shallow breaths
taste the chill air
laced with cinnamon
and fire

and delicately

is the only way
to hold anything.

like old china tea cups
and christmas tree baubles.
(the painted glass kind.)

and hearts

of course.

conversations with the darkening day

the wind breathes her secrets
so the lovers listen.

listen.

she rises.
some kind of ancient queen.
blood stirs.
skin feels porous.
lips stained the colour of lust.
the night caught fire.
and it's instinct mostly.
that, and wanting nothing
except everything.

following the river home.
looking for the places
you go in sleep.
painting ribbons
of red on walls
built by no one but you.
relishing the imperfections.
missing the horizon
almost as much
as the taste of green.

and the sky.

god,
if only you could have seen the sky.