Mixed Metaphor
It was pure honey
dripping from my lips as I
drank deeply of you
as you drank deeply of me
as we wrapped each other in arms
sterile bandages of silk
embalmed each other for the long journey
through our separate lives.
It was FIRE
what I felt for you
sparks igniting into licking flames
exploding into starbursts,
showers of luminous ash,
fueled by the friction
of the futility
of mutual grounding.
Sun sparkled on our faces
raindrops splashed our bodies
We entwined together like poison ivy
two vines, unable to climb
Two serpents, slippery and supple
unable to gain purchase
against one another’s slick sides.
Our love was a mixed metaphor,
at times, sublime aged wine,
at others, stale beer,
always a cup of red survival
with a dash of cayenne
and entirely too much distilled spirits.
Bitter beeswax sorrow grips me
as I walk away at your request
never to caress your purple coneflowers,
or taste your extract of echinacea.
I know ...
the memory of your witchery
will haunt me in my finest hours.
1998 SilkCocoon
