VICISSITUDES
Several bearings of compassion
reside in thy glance,
thy dance of laughter in sight-
of sincerity, thy colors weal;
of desire, thy whites brash wide;
of tenderness, thy lashes curl
in supplication to the eyes.
It compels one to see.
I gaze onward and cradle its levity-
its flirtatious, controlled abandon
scurrying free and ending
shy of speech.
I pray it is for me-
this manner of apparent honesty
bringing a rising, strange tenacity.
I stand aware of this air
and change not a thing, but ask:
Dare you speak?
Dare you lengthen these moments of thy life?
Dare you ensure I know of thee?
Will enraptured I may in seconds be?
Tell me slowly and engage not in lies.
Tell me softly-
whisper these words so I may hear this sight-
or soften unto mine thy lips
and let all these visons twine
in this time
that is thine, 'O Queen,
'O raconteur.
'O Guinevere.
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