Lover Nor A Friend
The Civil Departer — Divorcing Poem
A Warring Poem To Part; Red And Ruing Golds
By The Medium Of Poetry: Love’s loosened Labors come to blossom in the reseeded Pain of In-memory; The Ugly entrails following the broken Union thereon, in spite of what has been shared — a false love?
Thereon, to the days lived enough to move on past.
The United States Of America; The Union, New York — New Hampshire; Circa, 1863.
Breezed bracket, Red envy, taught flag; The golden mark tarnished for the horrid mornings thereon, since your departures — Repulsions besotted to the glow in arms; all the love in the mined tatters, above and away to the gainsay of the muttering crowd — goes!
Solemence all but leaves in the austerity of the given gowns Red in tunes, blazon in the deshelled Fortescue; shipped now, never to rest — What are your remarks now; To remain suit in Touching me, in the heartache thereon; Before, Red And Ruing Golds, Embellzed in jewels — sharpened by the clinical snigger of the red boarding.
Whence the love was bountiful comes The kneading of hateful dough that Sour’s any sense to be seen together
I could eschew the vision of perfect cranes — Yet I still ask: Entire for the permission, to laugh Without thought — Catches in saddles — Markings in cradles; I ask for no courting lie Or budding jewel of help thereon— I ask only for you all by but the dews of memory, The oscillation to a fragrant touch; inciting naught but trust in that.
Blazen sailors, Red faces taught to covet; The elocution of the executes is too fine, too fine cuts of skin; Themselves slithering in where it’d be best not to enter. To cover me lies, that my Love — is laughter, Suited best for this lie.
A Civil Union apart — by the mothering furlough, the lover beat to wayward back sides. The code departing, another lover caught in the choking steel — Rounding stern to the mephitic fumes of choice over loosening a brandish to the nailing hope. - A Civil Union ghastly roused — siring glad, it would seem halve-had to heart, a fond dew of red mystifies the sanctioning air, in what we depart, making all that was early, stale in trust & hopes. _ A Civil Union truly roused — but departed, only sights of disbelief can offer the meager cloaks of clover in the shock, that leaves pension on the airs of naught to believe.
In memory I decode my mistrust — in memory, I try to hide the semblance there never was me to abide with.
Streaking, coldly vain. The code departing still — why wax wisely over what must be chosen, a path we all must lead? Acting all officiously cold; must be lost so trackless and hatefully gay, to the reside of our history?
Slumping down, the accord where such petals touched my face now tracked its vista, charred and gray.
Slumping down, that’s me, assuredly to the outline of my New York-bought temperance pad, and housed stays.
You — darting so fast from view, in all that obeys to obstruct — what a fool I lead, redly to try the upsetting hue. The asperity of days. You — I — Cannot be blamed further, my love, for the hurtling darts are coming from their envious eyes — what a fool to their gainsay we have played — comes!
Our lasting upset to, nothing more to say, the rule to be obeyed. The valued heart to open arteries, shades Gleam wildly to the civil disunioner; Heavily hung and snow-drifted to remark the clearness in their eyes The wanton assault that casts me away into the realms of winged reds, arching the coldest blues. Offset, underhill to ado. Embellzed in catches— sharpened by the clinical harks of the red boarding outstanding.
Whence the beloved was bountiful comes Thudding down, like a poor clock A pauper to crowds, gaming, and all
Just, to peel away — heading that way. The coolness of brown earth — the villainy of golden red, to repress; — The starkness of haranguing monochrome to detest. I ask for no further love from you; For my love was faked and afraid. Babies’ signs of innocence’ abound, in the torment hall in the civil departing — The sexless thing is waiting there, apiece overturning.
I would remember how to court you, if I could have a single sight that was welcoming or that I could recall — without me, I remain assured! The crown of love — a failing truth, if it ever deemed itself so! Such a fraud — The red restricts on its crowning confides Above all words, there is the image, if daring could be more clinical, circa I would judge, I’d be fattening on that. President Abraham to reside me further;
The slacked brown fade of her mustering brawn to my idol sex. The spindle, daft the resounding dart, drowned. The hunkering of the recently violent past; Love the endless delusion, best played on my rounding parts — this fair rage against me, unrequited, soundless but unharmed. All begins chortling this fame — stealing him, Laughing to start all of this — fooling myself. Love’s fallen arrow — tender sweet loss, The insatiable involvement, I shall never commend the fool, that so haplessly scorns the belittling Crowd my way — Tallowing the alloyed gold Allowed for much inter-suspicions after;
A Civil Union apart — by the mothering furlough, the lover beat to wayward back sides. - The worsening blood of it — spirited clean to the plantable/platable touch The faint buntings of memories obscure me, hinted to, but nary hereunto, I am grieved by the onslaught of course, by things I am no longer paunched to. _ A Civil Union truly roused — but departed, only sights of disbelief can offer the meager cloaks of clover in the shock, that leaves pension on the airs of naught to believe.
I cleanly back away from the happy games, stillborn, stupefied by the ridiculed act, by what I retain no longer. I cleanly back away from my foolish aim, stillborn, love residing by the ridiculed act, as hungry men go to blame.
All wanton and checkered, the hamzah, hurray — Cleanly platters me as excusable to the browned punches of the dining table. New York is on the Hampton, and wanton comes its gray clouds.
All neatly tucked up for the excheckers, sold at burst prices, paired serenely to the bride’s steeling melancholia. It was the game I portrayed.
I trick, and I try, my bosom to fit the straps of a sneakily nude bra — Thence made, thence know!; Retards fire, an ailing Calhoun, Paling the ripe plantain for Jesus — We are at worst odds against other Before any damaging force beyond us And these boundaries castigated into Abounding sands, racked by the hurt Of etching time. I trick, and I try, I tat and derail the hunches of supreme whys In the company of cooling men; And women so astute, to assure me, I am not one, so goes my smile.
A manifest for the dearly deranged hereof. I craft it after such a reaction, yet still retain the envy to keep pursuing the uncomfortable law.
When you weep, I fell back to weep well. The bitter news of our stupidity to our mortality — isn’t fond or grand to portent. Union is over, and the slouching of years to come alone endorses me to love so foolishly thereon. When you wept, I felt too wise to do so again. The bitter news now comes out of New Hampshire and that alone wasn’t ever enough. Union is over, and the decades to follow are just what they are, coolly aware of me and my failings to you, fine lover.
Loves’ vanity, to the arch the bonding heart so choosing, is the cross over till its ending noose. Love’s once endless abounds, comes heatedly down, naught to the now.
So the thought-thank you comes and goes, too many jack-of-wolves Decrying false injury while the spotless Go undercover, without recourse or further blame; I too injure this course by the silent voice that screams in vain to the hemlines of my skirt and shield but to all. A civil union must go on unbetrayed, lover and all.
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©Joanie Adams — Joanie Adams; Gift A Tea: https://ko-fi.com/joanieadamms
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