THE HOUR OF CEREMONY

This is the hour, the hour of ceremony,
the culmination of all things done to me.
This is the moment that I make your gloss skin a tableau,
with permanent inks, just for amusement though.
This is the moment of grammar school glue, ceremony,
no leftover refuse, ceremony–
choosing, not to divide, we fuse.

The thin wall neighbors will lose, if you choose
to scream naturally with laughter.
I’ll hang my critique from the rafters.

This is the lilac hour; I refuse to call it twilight,
and I’ll smile despite certain sensitivities,
for this is the night that you won’t drop
your graffitied hand away from me.
This is the wane of will pitted against will,
the time of hands entwined on lacquered sills.

This is the still, still silence of treat,
the retreat of my impending tears.
This is the hour of uncertified matrimony,
of the lilac-lacquered altar
and its acceptance ceremony.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s