Dear Unknown Poet,
I tried to write a poem
(a token of appreciation, undying admiration)
twirling time into pirouettes
stared at the ghostly page
languages of Babylon fell silent
once vivid with age
breaking my pencil and
tearing the paper to shreds.
I laid on bed of thorns
to dream the imagery conjured on my walls
the strands fell tangled in barbwire
shattering the silver mirror to silt.
Traced the braille of leathery cover
with weary fingers, releasing the scent of musk
announcing the forthcoming dusk
then submerged with it in a tub of tea water
Rose petals afloat, fragile blushing moons
bleeding la petite mort
my head on a marble stone
all that the sun choked.
In this realm,
our worlds grind like old stones
tongues entwined, serpentine
tasting cursive words coating the throat
of mellowed vintage wine
metaphorical colors drown at the rim
aslant to the timbre of your sound.
Eyes wide shut
drawn to light
turning the page