Unwelcomed Season
You left the door
Ajar, in a
half-hearted hug
To welcome
The sauntering
Chill of winter
Inside the dorm,
Consecrated by a
former
Inferno,
Inside where I lay
Reminded of the
year-long
Lengths
Within each and
Every day,
You left the door,
Ajar, in a manner
most
Appropriate
Of those deemed
Imbecilic by our
class
Whose actions
We fail
By strict attention
To our own regard
Of one another
And the accord
With the poems
Inscribed
Onto the
Gleaming
Sword,
You left the chill
To ice
The heat
Once circled
About our reclined
postures
And our upward feet,
Freezing over
The exchange
Of words
Most gentle to the
ear,
The songs willed to
hear,
Played by the bands
Of union
Not about our
fingers;
But invisibly roped
Around our bodies
Tighter than
The clasp
Of motherhood
To a son sent forth
To manhood,
Or the emotion
Within an empty
Cup after
Having granted
Thirst
To its last,
And only pair
Of lips chapped
By conditions
Most surreal and
unknown,
You my love, had
left
The door open
Inside my infernal
dorm
Where all had been
kept warm;
Even the memories
And the items upon
the walls,
Just like me
Had unusually
Assumed some
peculiar form,
Unexplainable even
By the word
Given in utter
declaration
By the obscured
mirror,
My love let the heat
Remain about my feet
While I accompany my
comfort
Seated upon this
chair
With orbs floating
about my hair,
Keep your presence
in
The testimony of
that mild inferno
So that the cold
remains
Stranger to all the
beauty
In the this world
We know,
And
The shooting stars
At our
luck-dependent glows
So suddenly through
the night, hurled
To the moon and
back,
Not as you
Have now,
From spite
Inserted before your
grin
A glare I had never
Yet clinked my glass
of gin
To,
For now
This is that sin
Growing at your
face,
Causing the cold to
Land death bites
upon my neck
And occult marks
along my back,
Shy of our romance
The cold is your
pretence;
Leaving the door
Ajar
To let it in
As you would
A guest of foreign
descent
Arriving by horse
and cart,
The murky hands of
winter
To freeze my
emotion,
Perhaps of the idea
That I may
Dance to the
cavalier
After the
Fury of cold’s
entire day,
But I assure you
From the part of me,
Most known to your
eye
Such an act,
Would be the reason
I mysteriously die,
And in the wake of
night,
Wrapped in the arms
of desolation,
Seeking closure
Shaking about as a
clown on edge,
The question why,
Would leave you
demented
Upon a precarious
hedge, until
You too wish to
close your inquisitive eye
Fold your arms, and
die.
-Raeez Jacobs
©Raeez Jacobs. 2012. All Rights Reserved
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