由西湖 By the West Lake

The bird is down – black, bruised and beaten.
The bookmark stares empty at its hollow pages.
Something was meant to be in there.
Perhaps scribbles of words,
passages claiming a live pulse.
Perhaps a title blotted in emotion.

The dust jacket and the still feathers.

The bookmark is lonely.
The bird is down.

Dead!

Someone failed a heart.

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THREE STONES

A few more steps,
I am puffing through a wilful recluse.
A few more thoughts,
perhaps you’ll mutter a retort, a reason.

On these rolling hills,
I’m left with a sun lashing on your naked skin.
Whipped and overpowered by your voice
that said, “We will be by the West Lake.”

Here I am now –
Disintegrated.

The crowded room, the moving train,
and your eyes see my fingers-
playing with those black, long hair.
Crawling, smelling like a beast with a bursting chest,
I am drawn in your savage comeliness.
Draped on the bare skin of your neck.
You – Set this mind in peace.

Take me, ruin me –
In the weight of your love.