markbousfield

SWANS IN ALCHEMY GREY

I wait for the watchings of
swans sketched in alchemy grey,
swanning over sympathy the
slaked lakes sinister and wild

left me anxious for new ways of feeling,
hushed angels buckled in rust
swooping too high with pearly wings
so murky the snow knocks me out,

I don't care for it,
the broken mirror blues,

my breath in your hair could well be on some other,
new dawn and new blood on the tip of my boots,
the furs and feathers of fury kisses lay
on the snape of our hip solaces,

a curling finger exchange
sweet in the back room haze
of nighttimeterrain,

she came to me for escape,
not to end up the milkiest of eyes,
I never gave any less than everything,
in guilty time
and the tender framing of me, a manswine.