Poetry is a Kiss

By : Gus Victoria

The Kiss (Lovers) - Gustav Klimt 1908-1909

Poetry is a kiss,

Eloquence is a glance

Hidden behind the veil,

Betrayed by a dance.

My body is yours,

Model of imperfection,

Not by your word,

But my own fatal perception.

Let my touch

Arouse your desire,

Passion untold,

Unquenchable fire.

Tonight unforgettable

We may, in arms embraced,

Dream together,

Of another place.

Before we journey,

Let me know

You fully,

Never let go

Our story written,

Remembered hereafter.

Each kiss a poem,

Each night a chapter.

Strangers Walking Away

By: Gus Victoria

Holding on to the ember,

Fire left its scar,

Soon only ash,

Consuming hope,

There was little left,

Faith withered long ago,

Only habits lingered,

Passion ran once,

A mighty river it carried them,

Empty dust about

Strands them,

Each walks in a different direction,

To seek what might revive

What could not be lost,

Each remembers a vision

That changes with time.

She was dark when he was light,

She was day when he was night,

Alternating in their own way,

One and the other,

Friends and lovers.

Strangers walking away,

Messenger, Be Gone

By: Gus Victoria

Tortured messenger beyond the shade of knowledge

You toil in memory to keep alive

That which best is forgotten.

A spark here sets aflame

An inferno of regret

That casts dancing shadows of doubt

To play on the face of the fateful beauty

To whom we’ve given all.

We drink the wine of joy

Soured to despair

Poured by unsteady hands

Into a chalice made

Of once-broken glass.

We drink deep,

And dare not sleep,

For dreams wake

Demons thought slain

That we cast out in vain.

No messenger,

Best be gone,

Leave be the tattered memories,

Leave be the shattered future,

Be gone,

Be gone,

I drink.

Chasing the Fairy #7

By: Gus Victoria

Light!

A lover’s flame lit,

Fiery comfort

Of a charred memory

Encased in glass

Glowing brightly,

The way leading

To the lost gone

Wandering in wait.

Expectation of Desperation

For a thin faith fled.

They wait alone

Crowded in their solitude,

Pitied before loved,

Keepers and jailers,

Barriers to their own happiness,

Blind to the fire

Of Passion,

Slaves to desire

They cannot posses.