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The Fetishist |
I love my enemy, who tears me down; talons, screams,
an eagle’s swoop, passing overhead the winged bank of air
breaking against your face, a minor holocaust lit like a cathedral,
there lodged in between your eyes, and smiles, the gauze, its iodine.
Your knee surfaces into my view like a spirit mountain.
I then the solitary monk meditating your wilderness, your flight,
your blindness! The wondrous sheen of your stocking, so taut,
like a leash, so fragile, like one’s heart, I spellbound awaiting
the oracle in your spirit; breath! Mechanised symbols, halt and hum
outside the bank. Dynamic silver, your smile - bounteous warmth,
your gold. Pan in, relish the embrace, your sacred round. Captivated
by your totemic, Aztec, avifaunistic light; together we dive, give flight.
I steal this imagery constantly from you who have nowhere to hide.
Each precious moment magnified and stored in the menagerie
that is my mind, where each time spent with you becomes transformed
into a sublime exhibit; voluptuous, tantalisingly crystallized… dead.
copyright 2013
Peter
O'Niell |
