Sine qua non (with JohnFeddeler)

Without which nothing. Those words, how beautifully perverse they are.
Immersed in the depths of bluing thoughts,
abandoned to the minutiae of loneliness,
it always rains inside my head.
A pillory of savage kisses on my skin,
I welcome the oppressiveness,
the calm before the coming storm.

In the shadow on my eyelids, the liner beneath;
the gloss of cherry on my lips;
in the short black dress, the panties that I hesitate to add;
there is a storm.

Puella mala? No, I'm not her, I simply have a yearning heart.
Lost in the pages of poems: Anne Sexton, who desired the denied;
Sylvia, who made up men. A temple of poetry - it's a lonely place.

Without which, nothing. if I could fill myself the way a lover
fills me. somewhere there’s a man who yearns as I yearn,
slaving to break the shackles off his emotions till they boil
over, till they blow the lid off reclusiveness. a man who
craves a woman that gives as good as she takes, and
would go to her. if I could be that woman.

One night I’ll say, ‘storm, thou art loosed!’ it will be the
deluge Noah built the ark for, the song that thunder sings,
brilliant slashes of lightning across the heart of darkness.
a raging, symphonic production, born from my spirit  –  
the spirit of nobody’s mistess...

(Artwork: Alexander Grinberg)