Remove the spies
from my grief.
I cannot defend myself
with such pale armour.
I cannot tell you it will be eternal,
this day in which I burn for your soft mouth.
I cannot say the door is there,
it is always there.
I drown kisses on your neck.
I reach that wave of endless choice,
returning from episode to episode
of our unforgettable unions. And then
the stars seem to stumble around
the globe, tripping for no reason
into grave oblivion. Like us, they have
their secrets and sorrows they cannot
share. Like us, they glow in the night’s
pool-deep eye, unanchored
despite the gravity.
© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Raven Cage, Issue 26” September 2018
Published in “Our Poetry Archive” November 2018
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