Reciprocation (?)

poem

Do not judge me if I say

I love you

earnestly.

 

I will return the favour

as

you hold

those words

hostage.

2018 Lij Stephenson

(Digital art courtesy of Gene Raz Von Edler)

Advertisements

Home. Sweet. Home

poem

home_sweet_home_by_arbebuk-d3fptk1

…and I appear,

the known stranger ,

home to visit.

Sharing memories made

without them –

walks on serpentine cobblestone where I chanced encounters,

losing myself

in alien countries,

towns,

women

and

galleries

where dead artists live.

 

I’m home,

the visitor ..

with privileges,

using my blood as passport,

as connection,

as commonality,

as a reason

and

as an ..

excuse.

2018 Lij Stephenson©

(Photograph courtesy of Arbebuk @ deviantart)

Haunted Hearts (The Insomniac)

poem

lovers_by_spokojnysen

Haunted hearts

live

in the dead of night,

rattling memories like chains,

feeling ghostly kisses come to life,

tasting the echo of saccharine whispers,

reliving the crime scene

of their breaking –

wanting no more

and

then ….

 

just.

Wanting.

2018 Lij Stephenson ©

(Photograph courtesy of Piotr Rosinski – “The Lovers”©)

The Secret Wish of Night Women

poem

flashing_lights__by_singmealullabai-d3gt8vg

There are nocturnal women that offer daylight in their voice,

whispers as concerns

and

sing a like minded chorus,

 

They tattoo love on their wrist,

and

like lit kindling emit a glow,

a warmth.

 

There is a nocturnal woman,

A self-contained solar system –

She mimics the sun and grant light to four habitable planets,

 

There is a nocturnal woman,

who though she holds a nightly vigil,

…yearns for days as a girl in summer’s sun.

 

2017 Lij Stephenson ©

(Photograph courtesy of Aileen Luib, deviantart.com ©)

 

The Closed Tender

poem

la_nostra_infinita_abnegazione_by_agnes_cecile-d412zvb

My lover believes I see better in the dark,

She doesn’t realise her heart emits a glow that casts playful shadows on forest floors,

playing havoc with me tracking her feral kisses through trampled grass, disturbed soil, and clawed trees,

She believes when I tilt my head in that awkward fashion, I’m peering through sliding doors, gauging several futures and shuffling unmade memories like worn tarot cards,

I am,

in fact,

bathing in the intensity of that light, washing my own darkness clean, thinking

This is how the pardoned feel

wishing I could gift her Neptune’s rings (though she isn’t one for heavy jewellery) as part payment for her loves reprieve,

She used to call me her magician but claims that hints at sleight of hand, trickery and deception,

my lover believes I’m more than I am

….without her

and

has discounted her love…..

even though I sit here,

with banked kisses and a saved heart,

willing and eager to pay above market rate.

 

2017 Lij Stephenson ©

(Illustration courtesy of deviantart.com ©)

Examining Truths (The Lovers)

poem

D4A9723_Opt2_RGB.jpg

Hotel rooms

(it seems) are theatres,

Where others act and are rushed to inebriation,

fuck-drunk and shorted.

We are no actors,

truths lay spread-eagled across our bed,

eager to be believed,

Interchangeable master and slave,

Interlocking limbs and adept tongues,

We are electricity,

Chocolate flashes of raw heat,

We are carnivores..

at our bellyful banquet –

tufted mounds,

snaking perils,

fingers that visit ,
and squat in resplendent wetness….

Mouths that bite,

nostrils that flare,

tongues that dance and dart between thighs,
crannies
and
nooks,

living between seconds,

ears,

moments,
rock and our own hard place.

We are muscles,
made to bend ,

stretch,

shake

and

collapse..

Shake for me while I collapse into you,

My seducer…

Your truth has made me
a believer.

 

2018 Lij Stephenson ©

(Photograph courtesy of Herman Wald – Sculptor, piece entitled “The Lovers” ©)