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When Forlorn is Drenched In and Trembling

When forlorn is drenched in and trembling
At the threshold of a hotel, unlock the doors
The total tales will all be of darlings, slender in the dismissing
Of harmonica ballads that whirl up tiny goldfish into eddies
That may be mistaken for the tail-flames of exhausted infatuation
How can longing for such love assemble into anything else
Than something that swims and burns and defies terrestrial logic
Just moan for me, and pirouette pain into a tolerable pillow of first-kiss
fantasies
Kiss my wrist and warm the tips of my fingers
With your heavy breaths that pout of dysfunction
There are violins now too, gallantly rubbing the quiver
Of strings along the backside and down the rosehips of lament
So badly they want to smooth out the ripples of a battlefield
They want to bring the prayer at your chest home
Can you understand the fields running from the breeze of a bough
Over frantic strings longing to cum into a white cloud of lament
to sit there disguised as a weather system of lust that might
Find its way to this room where the geometry of bed and picture
Wait in their mad math to be figured out Where has the day done gone
And trembling, you bend to the contour of my hip and any sum
I might have envisioned on the blackboard of little boy fantasies is scribbled
The chalk breaks and drops and the slight puff of dust lifts and dissipates
into.


Chad Faries