a work in progress
Your eyes beckon me
that color of wizards' caps--
captured sky and stars
wrested from heaven
with arcane incantations.
I have tasted afternoons entwined,
Your laughter compelling us together
like chants of a secret sorcery;
Watching the sun dance about your skin
through half-drawn curtains;
My hands tracing patterns and pentacles
in the salt drying upon your body,
invoking some rite
to exorcise old ghosts.
But morning robs me of my hubris.
Your eyes taunt me
Unweaving me with shouts
like cruel children at recess
goading and needling the timid and fearful
to kisses and conflicts.
James T. Hsiao