In my hands I carry the world
And in it there is you.
She will be poles apart from that.
She will be your sovereign when I turn my back to you, the fool.
She will raise your sanctuary’s sun
And adorn her dark hair with jasmine.
She is all the wonder of hell and I am exiled to Heaven.
When you kiss her hand my arms quake,
Atlas shrugged, and my eyes grow somnolent.
You are in my world and on it rests the lion in chains.
All are in my hands.
I will send out the raven to you,
My last attempt, but she is serene.
She is solid and I am all too unstable,
Your left overs, the beaten alley cat, the roach on the molded bread.
I am that of pickled ham and maggot honey
When she stole the perfume.
In night when chills come she will warm you
And I will walk the streets with the world in my hands,
Instead, of on my shoulders.
They are mending from where I once carried you.
She is porcelain and ivory,
Red lips with strawberry,
Brown eyes with mahogany
And a loin to match when I am the truth of Eden.
She will do you right,
Her hips swirling you into a frenzy.
She will take your voice and breath with her.
She will display it on her earings or in a tattoo.
She will wear the ring as an actress in a trophy role.
In all its expensive glimmer when I watch in discomfort.
She is this because she is everywhere
And I am rare, lonesome.
Her face appearing in the women’s skins,
Lacking in vice,
But claiming no virtues
And she is everywhere when I just wait here.
In my hands I carry the world and in mine I see only one you,
But she will see you in triples when money runs dry.
She will kick you when down
And swirl her hips once more to re animate you.
She will scream at mist
And fight when you sleep with your shadow.
There is only room for one,
She will say.
And I sit by the curb cutting my hair,
Leaving a trail for you.
It was always you,
Knives to end yourself
For in my hand there sits the world
And by my heart the old picture of you.