Living In The Aftermath Of A Dream

Love was understanding: the battle rages on
inside my head, inside my lungs, even after
love has gone.

Tonight the air is filled with a gasp,
a sigh and tangible memory. Embrace the chasm
to feel your abandonment rush over,
your otherness exhausts me.

But you are not with me,
though I feel your presence
in the last breath the sun takes-
in the final embers of day, you are with me.
No, your memory is what cleaves
the twin silences: mourning and solitude

I can taste the passion still,
the beads of sweat, hot breath.
The slow probe of your urgent tongue
so quick to impinge me, your existence
my slow disease. A kiss
arrested by the wind
that had leapt from your lips-
meant for the wound that seeps
in the burrow of my breast,
where once the pain of your daily offering
came for resting-
I miss the way you missed me
when you were turning in for the night.

Wandering through the dark hours- alone
wanting to imprison my body
in your arms, forever
but here, with out you tonight,
the stars have fallen from twilight’s womb
or maybe my eyes have wintered.
The angels who used to lull me into rest,
are sirens who lure me down
into a purgatory of tumultuous sleep-
The hours are relentless,
each: beautiful acts of masochism.

This moment, autumn has begun,
They’ve come to the fields, slaves
ready to reap whatever’s left in the wake.
And I can’t remember
the names of all the seasons I’ve weathered
in your absence, nor the fields I’ve planted-
And yet tonight, like the slaves, I’ve come.
Ready to reap my portion of the ruins.

by Amberlee Carter

Comments (2)

Such longing, such density of emotion. Nothing could make poetry any better than this.
Amberlee, can you as the creator of this poem, imagine 'him' listening to your recital of it? This has such a pregnant soul, I had to re-read it to see if my first impression was correct. It was. You sure know the way to a man's heart. H