A Portrait In Which I Have Five Hearts
You are the cauldron
by Mirjana Miric Inalman
in which I cook my love:
paleness, bones and moonlight
tossed into the fire,
learning the secrets of the dawn.
I listen to you mumble
Delirious nonsense through the night,
waiting to become your river.
I'd follow you to Hell,
Because Hell with you is Holy
(even though you'd constantly complain
how it's too hot)
I love you from the bottom of my soul
to endlessly up.
You are a vanilla ice-cream
under the rain,
You are the playfulness of the ocean,
the tenderness of its waves,
all the azure of the sky,
a walking, talking strawberry tart.
You are the sunshine boy
the dandelion king
with a million names -
they all mean my heart.
You are the boy whose hair
was tinted by night's strings,
Some god's forgotten violin, you weave
symphonies for this writhing realm.
You, a crossroad between
summer and spring,
you thump and march,
just like my heart bursts,
would even tear the Moon down
from the sky,
just to see you smile.
You are my poinsettia,
sad to be in a suburban sour vineyard,
sprouting pink for no-one, someone, anyone.
My velvet harlot, devourer of worlds,
cloud-catching partner in crime.
In a tiny room beneath the ocean
I have found your wings
and I never returned them to you.
You don't need them.
You are a dreamer in the wrong, wide world,
I love you, you are the butterfly pinned to my lungs.
You are the song of my undoing,
a little girl on the rocks,
I'm so sorry you were never born a fox,
nor tortoise, nor hare, nor a sparrow,
even though it is one of your names,
you are the one who dances, while I wallow.
You are the one who prances, while I wither.
You are sorrow - poison in a little bottle,
big dreams in a slaughterhouse,
I'm so sorry you were not born a mouse,
or a bear, or the prettiest candid apple
on the faire.
You are a carnation, I am carnage,
you are the ark made from my salvage,
you are raw, untainted, kind, candid;
I'm so sorry I was grown a bandit.
One day I'll be worth enough
to love you.