Why I love her
Posted by majutsu on November 15, 2009
Why I love her
Sheltered beneath this opened umbrella
a pituitary parasol of parabolic
colors, emanations of the unifying embrace
of her, loved before I knew her
whose hair strand is the corner of a market stand
in Darfur, a blinked eyelash at a family
dinner table of waspish mediocrity.
The inviolability of sufficient for our needs
screams like a stark reminder of the march
of sensory soldiers
unified only by a pole of
consciousness, the arbitrary skin fences
of yours and my stories
mere wisps of ether ,
vortices in her dance.
Mary with her ragged clothes
and unknown violation
in that dark night of the soul
mirrored in her almost bottomless almond eyes
the horror of every woman
afraid to show her face beneath her veil,
her intellect beneath her subjegation,
that vast moonlight of divinity reflected
in softest cafe au lait skin
responding to electric touch,
whipping into a frenzy – energy itself ,
the male sword plunged against his brother’s breast
for the misdirection of cash, with nary
but the gliding of a palm
on a warm sensate field of short
dark hairs standing like soldiers
in obeisance of place and duty.
Who whipped her neck around,
like some awkward rubik’s cube?
Someone’s daughter or wife
in a parking lot
beneath the shadow conspired by two streetlights?
Who slit the insides of her thighs like an orange
peeled before a morning breakfast?
What monster did not see
her divinity, her beauty,
her sideways glance
as proof of her eternity,
her testimony to their evil, before
they laid the black tarp of autopsy over her
and laid her to rest out back of the old church?
The monstrous violation
of the goddess of us all,
the breather of life into our every broad armed inhalation,
was obvious to us later
in the funeral parade of silk and ceremony.
It is said by ancient tribes that in this willing death
she undergoes beneath my stabbing sword at night,
that petit mort under full moon’s watchful glow,
is a sacrifice of tears.
She is the queen of mercy
mother to a field of daughters laying down under a foreign sword
whose crop of babies are never born to suck
the nuzzle of this young girl’s older breast.