the black night and the white knight

you held me, tightly

in the black and white night

between worlds

her bed

their old bedroom, posters

still taped above my head.

they were beautiful

and cold

we cling, and gasp

eternal beings, so far apart

from the twilight anger

bitter rage.

when we met,

i was young, and fresh.

impressionable.

tell me, what part of me

still commands

your gaze and fervour?

you used to say

"i don't deserve her..."

but babies swelled

and knowledge grew

weary hands, they worked

and hair fell short

shorn and bold

i was born anew.

(he loved me

like the forest loves the rain

i grew intoxicated

the scent that rose 

between us

and eyes locked,

where lips never would.

did he love my innocence?

no, that he never knew

he loved the stories that unfolded

from my memory

and i loved him.

oh i loved him.)

we become, one being

here in this heartbreaking intimacy

the devastating truth

i am your woman,

through and through.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

Love poetry is dangerously difficult, because you are throwing yourself out there, and asking someone to understand things that perhaps only the author can only comprehend completely; there is much more potential for ridicule than praise. This is the goods; the language is just-so, the tone is pitch perfect.