OBEMATA
playing away
here we lay skin down our breaths only the distance between us
the floor spread underneath all affections pure
where our bed used to be we made the haunt of Argonauts
and it seemed to know what our hearts planned-
to shape the geometry of our flesh to count every hand that formed the floor below
we lay on the bed that at first was not ours two bodies in tandem
anti-prospero
when thou didst not… I endowed thy purposes with word…
-Prospero, The tempest
the morpheme of your language is this weight in my tongue
I do not come from your country your tongue knots my tongue
I do not belong to your country my tongue broods in your tongue
a weight in my tongue your tongue is everywhere it’s everywhere now
soon it will be the word I forsake or the silence I keep remembering what might have been-
the clarity of my pristine tongue the purity of my language
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Sentinel Poetry #34 ONLINE MAGAZINE MONTHLY …since December 2002 September 2005 ISSN 1479-425X Editor: Amatoritsero Ede |
