Love, still our matching palms burn in collateral far distance
soaring rhymes, riding silence on current streams
pairing verses, top-sever metaphors, secret margin lines,
and although we are squared between far parallel Earth’s meridians
we count each other by Greenwich time
with daily sighs and dream nightly extreme flights.
Deep tracks are left behind
and the doe runs away from this allure
straight to the woods
scratched by dry shrubs of rooted inside thoughts
that grow an unknown solemn, wilderness tree.
In that forest
Snow squeaks braking the dawn
“go and step”
into the life and death game
where we are faced

staring at the last moment
each, looking at the arrow’s sight gape
we ask,
who is a hunter, and who is a prey?

Needles books in my hands are coals
that burn in parallels our wrecked lives;
frozen breath caught in a death like scene
and your scream bounced off the Arctic ice;
the thrown spear ripping the solstice spine;
let me land the last kiss between your blue, collapsing  lips
and save the hearts of last hunters from demise.

William Shakespeare, “Venus and Adonis,” Excerpts:

“O hard-believing love, how strange it seems
Not to believe, and yet too credulous!
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes;
Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous:
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.

What is thy body but a swallowing grave,
Seeming to bury that posterity
Which by the rights of time thou needs must have,
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity?
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.”

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