PASSION FRUIT
Richard Pierce
Smashwords edition
Copyright 2010 Richard Pierce
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Seed
story teller
i place my hands both
white and
shiver-torn
on the table to show
and recount my endless
tales.
i question and answer
the stories that i have
lived.
in the window translucent
i see myself in yellow
light.
i dare not touch the brittle pain
or I will crumble and
fall.
***
Shadow Angel
Your shadow falls into my shelter,
Warms
the glass of cold winter,
Dries the ice rain from the pane
Of
my silent retreat, halts.
There are no words in your eyes
So
I invent new ones and destroy them.
Who looks first loses
last
I imagine as consolation
When you hold my gaze so long
It
hurts deep as silver.
There is no future in you
So I invent
an old one.
Fate errs when you catch breath
For angels need
no living.
Fate errs when you touch matter
For angels cannot be
real.
There is no name in you
So I invent none.
***
mystery
dream
what are you writing she
asks
scouse accent red hair short skirt
boots big bag and
rings
all about you
her cigarette won’t light
the
sun on her hair
crosses the road
so close she was sitting
there
unbearable silence
she walks away
a black and
red shadow
against an epic hall
***
question of love
her nipples pierce her skin
beneath
the bedroom robes.
she’s never been left before.
soft
skin grows sharp
alone in a cluttered room.
a pale silhouette
of a face.
she turns around too readily
a difficult smile
in her voice
on the edge of waiting.
the curtains open to
light.
day-old scars mark her face.
she’s never been hurt
before.
dishes busy her eyes
to keep her occupied.
her
make-up has gone.
breakfast hand in red mouth
she has long
cool fingers
that used to touch.
her imprint on a bed
her
perfume in that one room.
what is left will be too soon.
that
shadow on her face
turned away and veiled
as if we had never
been lovers.
***
Brief Encounter
Nameless, she sits beside him.
The
train sways and he feels her
accidental warmth against him.
Her
pencil drawings, big jacket
and russet hair fling about them
the
passion of the late summer.
In the tunnel, blind, she
scents
of evenings spent outside,
of mild rain that never
was.
Her sleeves are too long.
His nails cut into his
fingers.
He can’t see her eyes in the dark.
***
moment
in that one solitary moment
reaching beyond
comprehension
indecision unknowing banality
overtruthful
triviality
i lose myself in her eyes
my love is the shiny
ice
and as passionate as my hatred
***
That dance
Before that night he never met her
Yet
her face looked the same as before.
In the midst of the noise
Her
breath grazed his skin,
And the light around her paled.
Eyes
were upon them, yet the loudness
Turned their shouts to
whispers
As they glimpsed the devil
In each other’s eyes.
For
a second they wanted that dance.
There is no description to
hold against
Memory, no words bold enough to recount
Those
brief glimpses of pure wanton.
She would remain in his life as a
fantasy
He almost plucked.
***