Bottled Up

 
* Based on a Billy Collins poem at the bottom of the page!

Bottled Up

If I could capture
twilight in mason jars,
wear you around my neck
in a silver locket -
I would, you know.

But yearning and anxiety,
butterflies encapsulated
in a beach ball,
run recklessly awry
and the thirst
I seek for completion
is magnified tenfold.

You desire chemistry
value the rhythm
while I prefer kisses
filled with empty promises.
You bequeath me roses
with thorny outcomes.

You pull me close,
chase away the tapes
that run rampant in a blistered mind.
I just feel hollow
in the knowledge
that you won’t change
and I won’t reveal feelings aborted
because it is lies I covet,
            while you shun truth.

Author notes

In response to Billy Collins:

Just as in the horror movies

when someone discovers that the phone calls

are coming from inside the house

 

so, too, I realized

that our tender overlapping

has been taking place only inside me.

 

All that sweetness, the love and desire--

it's just been me dialing myself

then following the ringing to another room

 

to find no one on the line,

well, sometimes a little breathing

but more often than not, nothing.

 

To think that all this time--

which would include the boat rides,

the airport embraces, and all the drinks--

 

it's been only me and the two telephones,

the one on the wall in the kitchen 

and the extension in the darkened guestroom upstairs.

Ripper

 

i.

Acuity extends to azure vessels
where wilted lilies aschew
prodigious perfume
on your savory breath.

I inhabit your touch.

ii.

The scandalous shrieks stupify
an anxious jury of patricians,
who scrutinize while churlish imputations
abscond like barren blackbirds
courting kernels of corn.

My life flashes cold, white noise.

iii.

I amble through nocturnal currents
eclipsed by the hanging moon.
You hover beneath as I penetrate Atlantis
craving to be apprehended in your ambush
beckoning me to assay the curve of your nape.

Envelop me with sugar espousals you will abase;
I will not abdicate.

iv.

She slumbers in tainted bile, disembodied,
her hand still clutching
the key to her piazza
knees chafed, neck severed:
butcher spurious.

I rouse from charcoal sleep
cowering in the brumal air,
sobs betraying my foresaken heart.

v.

Orange, like the mystic orb
that emanates tenacious heat,
scours your satin skin,
as I embrace you through iron bars -
the choice was not mine -
your whispers heavy,
as I dance the devil's tango
with fickle fate.

I asphyxiate, my chest convulsing,
shame flooding pearly cheeks,
my nails digging deep,deeper, slicing flesh
drawing droplets of blood.

I recoil as you beckon -
remember, I was ordained;
it was a crime of convenience.

I tumble into your curved eyelash,
the punch crushing your luscious lips:
shattering translucent cheekbones,
but all I see is crimson.

vi.

The nightmare taunts
as I arise, the belt from my robe
lacerating my knees
through opaque windows.

I peer with swollen eyes,
perform a swan dive,
clashing with cement pavement,
dissembling languid limbs.
and blistered bones,
the ground painted gossamer
on a blank canvas waiting
for another brush stroke
to color me blue.