Interred

Kerry O'Connor

We bury our lovers beneath the weight of days
thought to be so numberless and varied
until we have forgotten their names, until we

can no longer reach back through time to grasp
the hour, the breathless minute when we turned
old earth, threw clods upon remembrance too.

But I’m tired of this shallow grave; bury me deeper.

Faceless

Kerry O'Connor
Inspired by the Art of Guiseppe Cristiano

I do not need the light; I know you faceless:
I hear your fingers touching notes on my skin
as the scales of a musical nocturne played blind.

Your voice is richly scented as the rainfall
I feel stirring my own dry earth to liquid dance:
your lips caress my soul as a thing of sense apart.

This appetite unappeased: loving feeds on love itself.



I am doubling up on weekend challenges:
A Portrait for Kim, and
Just One Word: Apart, for Marian.