Infinity (The Proclamation of Icarus)
It might be from sincere dispositions,
and honest verity
to describe My Love as the sun.
She is warm and inviting,
glowing like a fireball in one’s chest.
Pestiferous in abundance, missed in scarcity.
Unashamed and unafraid and unrepentant.
Yellow as morning
is the crown perched atop her carob waves
and the burning ambrosia that flows in her veins.
Incarnadine as sundown
are her candescent cheeks and wolfsbane mouth
whispering promises from which illicit feelings arouse.
Thus, it might be an equitable casuistry
to describe My Love as the sun.
But it is the errand of fools,
a cataclysmic fallacy
to spill such facile postulations,
for she is anything but.
My Love is an intangible force; a tornado careening.
She is the ocean waves that come and keep coming,
folding over me with new vigor; new life.
She is the concomitant beat
of a hummingbird’s wings - fleeting and constant.
Blink and you will miss it, stare for too long
and you will no longer be able to tell start from end.
She sits upon her empyrean throne of bones and glass,
adorned by the cushions of past lovers’ hearts;
and I, in turn, dutifully, step forth to present
the breath stolen from my languished lungs
to spin the formless threads that caress her skin;
and the salty sorrow of my lovelorn eyes
so that they may form the dewdrops
that graze her petal-stained lips.
She is the line between the heavens and the earth,
and yet, never does she simply watch me from afar -
My Love is not simple.
She seeps into the very oxygen I breathe,
a melancholy ghost that wedges its soul
into every choking inhalation.
She settles in the labyrinths of my mind
and the memories of my bones
and lives in the great, eternal space
that lingers in between.
She takes away the earthly curse of mortality.
With her, my soul is endless;
I want to lie with her and spill it
like the secrets I could never find the words for;
and I yearn not for air,
but that I may prostrate, asphyxiated and bound
by the shackles of her daisy fingers,
at the foot of her wolfsbane mouth.
And when all this is said and done,
if there should come a time
when age has withered my sanity,
and my tomb of flesh has wearied
to a forsaken state of nihility;
if I find myself running out of words to describe her
and am forced to reduce
her preternatural phenomenality
to something as trite as the sun
and its pallid rays to which possess
a sickening and crude banality,
then let My Love be the sun,
and I, Icarus,
so that I may spend the rest of my days
incinerating from her Aphrodisiacal fire,
in my relentless ardour to land
just one fairest touch upon her skin.
The ignorant chide and lampoon me,
their devil tongues staking me an asinine halfwit
beguiled by womanly charms and poisoned honey
that drip from the forbidden bud.
But when the day of Judgement arrives
the fragile fractals of the temporal will shatter
and the Baltic will bid permanent farewell
to its sextillion grains of shore,
and it shall be known that the divinity of My Love
transcends the beatific but fatuous glares of the sun;
for even Helios shall bend his celestial knee
and a blade of silence will befall all of Olympus
as they bear witness to her everlasting splendour.
And so, my darling, you will see
that My Love is not and cannot be the sun.
You will see that
My Love is infinity.
