From the Mouth of the Stars VI: In the Passing of Midnight, In the Mourning of the Day

on this night your lips speak my name

and I

 who can no longer remember how to love any other
am at your side
we lie down in shadow
a flicker of moonlight in your eyes

your words
frighten and shame me
for I cannot recall why I am here
my words cannot match yours, tender
soft with a sadness of a thousand lost songs
you cry out, as if the heavens would answer you

“O, the Saints have not been kind
have I this gift to give another
but not a soul of which to give
have I these words to weave
only with a soul to share
have I memories
of songs a thousand voices deep
O, my hands do hold sorrow
for keep might my memories these voices
my simple hands will not play the instruments of remembrance”

your tears,
a thousand mirrors of the Moon, pierce the fabric of night
I bless you lips with a kiss
our bodies bound with ribbons of white heat
your heart, shelled in age tempered ambivalence
sets alight with the passion of a nova
consumes the black whole of every night
sears my body with mad love

you pour your river into me
as the columns of morning peel back the cast shadows
I twine my fingers with yours
my breath holds tight, the River
the Night

quickly, I am becoming an old soul

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