The Dead

I am on my knees before them
yet, they remain
strangely
unaware

They are driven by sonar                                                              THE DEAD
and the redolent aromas
of roses, lilies, and honeysuckle

deliciously oblivious
yet acutely connected

Their conductor
directs them symphonically
in a Queenly manner

They are steadfastly
autonomous
whilst our need for them persists unabated

unrelenting
they do not know this,
they do not care

they can remain, or not,
yet our bodies cleave to them
out of need and fear

like a lover
too late to swoon,
already smitten, we bow our head to them unabashed,
unblushing, swelling, our loins

how they redden and surge,
the blood coalescing in that warm reservoir
betwixt our knees

They have us at their mercy
on bended knee
Too late to say we are sorry
Too late to take it back

We suckle at their breast
unapologetically
our heads downcast, where we belong

We have done this to you,
We are sorry we scream
Can you hear us?

But, the air is thick with oils
smelt and acrid noxious plumes
funneling and curling
poisonous pudding
which pollutes our bellies

We need to woo them
We need to LOVE THEM
Even as we fear them
acknowledge the want of them

Unrequited we dance, alone
the tune still in our heads
our arms outstretched waiting for them
Beseeching them to take us in

Blood, Bone and Stone
Copyright 2014© Aria Ligi from Blood, Bone, and Stone
Mighty Muse Productions