Shipwrecked

A sequel to Into the Deep

Photo by Biorock Indonesia on Unsplash

Tears welling in azure eyes
you recited your amorous soliloquy
I bathed in the water of your emotion
permitted myself to rest
to be soothed

At long last
be content

You proclaimed my imperfections endearing
My scars — badges of honor
You aspired to be my person
To travel — to battle — alongside

But when the veil of infatuation lifted
and love’s bounty could truly be discovered
You cowered — deserted
too feeble to exert the effort

Starstruck by serendipity
I had envisioned the beauty in our future
Surmounting struggles
a path to strengthen our union

Did you not trust our relationship to withstand?
Or did you simply become apathetic?
At what point did admiration fall to disregard?

I showered you with tokens of affection
My first
now my last
poetic declaration

You sang my praises
Lulled me with sweet nothings
And I
the enchanted fool
was enthralled by your music

Captivated by your siren’s song
I lowered my shields
Allowed you to see the wounds
residing in my soul’s abyss
immersed for a decade
concealed from view
by warrior’s armor

When did our treasure begin to tarnish?
Why carelessly lay waste my self-respect?
Or are you oblivious to your actions’ aftermath?

Masquerading as my beloved
you celebrated with my family
Camouflaging your discontent
with flattery and lies

Buoyed by false affirmation
I sailed hope’s waters
Swept up on a promise
A doomed flight of fancy

Was I always your dirty little secret?
You couldn’t admit
even to yourself?

Once again battered and broken
submerged by my own tears
The suffocating weight plummets me
shipwrecked
into the deep

Into The Deep

tim-marshall-QKPFF-AmzHU-unsplash

Photo by Tim Marshall on Unsplash

I’ve waded through the shallows often.
Colorful, glistening creatures
tickled my toes and skimmed through my heart.
Alluding to promises
never to be granted.

I’d nearly forsaken the expedition.
Weary of the fleeting encounters,
apparitions of affection and
shipwrecked expectations.

Prompted by tedium.
Coaxed by kismet?
I endeavored once more.
Hope beckoning like the North Star.

Hesitantly, a signal was launched.
A gentleman and his retriever
the siren’s song.

The message acknowledged,
courtship’s discourse began.
Formal pleasantries swiftly abandoned,
yielding to intimate conversations
oblivious to the passage of time.

Safe harbor determined and a rendezvous is set.
The two captains’ galaxies twinkle with flirtation.

Crystal Caribbean eyes enchant.
An alluring smile delights.
Tender first kisses,
rip currents of passion,
affirm the attraction.

Captivated, our two spirits ponder,
Are we ready to draw up anchor?
Chart a unified course?

Can we be brave enough
to submerge our souls?
Immerse our selves?
Into the deep?

The Woman in the Moon Face

moon-1560232_1920

Image by Mona El Falaky from Pixabay

A pericarditis poem

Palpitations reverberate her ribs
Tremble. Thump. Squeeze. Tremble. Squeeze.
Staccato rhythms ricochet to her skull
Throbbing. Pulsating.
She awakens

Brain awash in a celestial haze
she levitates with caution
drifting to the vanity mirror
“Good Morning,” she sighs
to the Woman in the Moon Face

Half a year since the voyage began
Launched into orbit by an autoimmune flare
She tried to abort the mission
but there is no dousing
the combustion of chronic illness

Disease incarcerates her heart
Unrelenting gravity constricts her core
Shallow breaths through concrete
Each gasp measured
to preserve oxygen

Countenance circumnavigated by treatment
Her once lean expression
now eclipsed
Medications store plump reserves of blubber
encapsulating like a spacesuit

The image on her home screen taunts
A brighter, joyful time
Two years earlier
thin, carefree, euphoric
flanked by her sons beneath the Grecian sun

Averse to comprehend
this alien reflection
Reluctant to accept
the morphed figure as her own
The morning’s trek has made her weary

She retreats to her bed chamber
and dreams of normalcy

 

Confessions of an Autoimmune Disease

1038231-1024x768-wallpaper-114

Wake up,” I whisper, “I am here.”

In the bowels of the night, I launch my ascent.
Methodically, I commence the courtship.
My breath permeates her muscles.
My tentacles nestle in her joints.
Every sinew, every corpuscle, every ounce of flesh, entwined in my embrace.

She feels the subtle tingle amplify; vibrating deep and low.
It disturbs her slumber.
She is restless, but not awake,
Not yet.
I relish the thrill of her hovering between dreams and affliction.

Steadily, I escalate the intensity.
Her nerves spark and buzz with my electricity.
Soon, she will experience my unyielding static of discomfort.
She will forsake sleep.
She will find no rest.

She’ll be alert, but exhausted.
Achy and fragile.
Others might mistake me for a trivial virus.
But not her.
She recognizes my caress.

Sometimes, she is able to foretell my visitations.
She understands my predatory appetite is triggered by an inclement day or the howling wind.
She knows stress will summon my lust.
I’m not culpable during those times.
There is no one to blame.

I prefer, however, to catch her unawares.
To appear without anticipation.
How dare she plan!
I delight in the startled sorrow
The deliberate dampening of spirit.

I enshroud her in a haze of weariness.
If I remain long enough, she’ll not remember life without me.
I confuse her perceptions. I confound her aspirations.
She’ll want to soldier on.
She’ll long to collapse and be cradled.

I’ve chosen not to display the telltale signs of my presence.
Her joints are not gnarled. Her skin is unblemished.
She should be grateful.
No one sees how I persistently pulse within her.
Disturbing her peace just enough to make her distrust her sanity.

She tries to dull me with medication.
To drug and delay my assault.
But each day, my resistance builds.
I bide my time
While the pills, the injections, wreak their own collateral damage.

She is my everlasting dominion.
I am her parasitic possession.
She endures.
I prevail.
There is no tomorrow without me.

Why does she fight?
Why won’t she relinquish control?
Can’t she taste the sweetness of surrendering to my suffocation?

I am her beast.
She is my paramour. My concubine.
She comforts in my stranglehold.
I mask her true identity.
I am her real self.


Originally published on @Medium.com