I always pretend to hear whispers of our world, yet my mind always drifts towards that open void, reflecting on kisses that undress the ache of my scars, unfurling sorrows as if silken ribbons. These will never wither, but will be absorbed by you when low moments come to mock.
And as time settles into evening, your shadow will hang itself from my core. And with sighs quivering between my lips – my spirit will wrap itself around warmth of your body. And when you stroke your fingers through my hair – you will feel each aching breath of me.
Today a Prince among men has died royal in birth, a refugee, a child passed from land to land. He won the heart and hand of a Princess wooed her, married, and served her well renouncing his title to be her Prince.
Roguish, dapper, charming, and smart he was unflinching in the task, he took no flatter, no false position, tireless he worked in science, youth, conservation, trees, he gave himself, devoted to his Queen.
Now wear black, stop the clock, a Prince is dead, our Queen in mourning.
Published in The Lark 09 04 21
I never realised what he gave up, or how he was a refugee from one year old. He was a born leader, but walked one step behind when his wife became Queen. He was her confidante, partner, advisor, and husband.
Ancient history now, but still sometimes in my mind, I see you kissing me so deeply such craving for touch until then I knew not your tall, broad, body at an angle to my small one
I see it as if from the ceiling, maybe your size made me aware much more that you are male the hunger and need caught me by surprise a recognition was lit in my soul to nurture you
So it was, I fed you what you were longing for since then you’ve lied and betrayed our trist calling you spineless was true after all, though my pain because of it was deep. I don’t know why
I saw the truth but wanted to deny your sweetness was encased in a troubled heart, bereaved so young you have no idea of being loved or loving back you numb yourself with drink but worse, enable a drunk