Recently I discovered an old novel, ‘Nightmare Abbey’’, written in 1818, by Thomas Love Peacock. To say that I was captivated with this intelligently conceived gothic topical satire would be an understatement. This quote, taken from its musty, yellowed, paper-mite nibbled pages, became a creative springboard: “There are, for the most part, some learned casuists, who maintain that love has no language, and that all the misunderstandings and dissentions of those in love arise from the fatal habit of employing words on a subject to which words are inapplicable.” I have to disagree Mr. Peacock. Applicable words for my better half…
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Resolving to avoid every
fine-spun nuance of human
pretense; I spoke with the winds
today and asked that the miracle I
had discovered in you - such torrid
brush strokes dividing the light and the
dreary - remain the hot-ember now
burning brightly in me

Extending its
warmth and light as
aliment and inspiration;
wisdom encouraged me to
avoid the vast discolorations of
thoughtless indiscretion and
hinted that I embrace you
in high regard
without

CRUSHING
the delicate flower
guarding your heart from
marauders, and from the crisp
edges of chasms, and the
tainted breath of
firedrakes,
and the
twisted hands
of wanton potters
desirous of enslaving
the assailable parts of you
while devouring your essence
as pit-roasted meat…

Save the rage
of moment’s fierceness;
I pleaded earnestly for the chance
to understand your depths,
to encourage YOU,
to love YOU,
more
effectively,
without stumbling
through your pure white sands
and leaving marks that might
remain as scars…
        Between the Cracks