L. B. Mek

Cor, cor dium

This here be drip-dried mourning 

of a longing, long lost 

to wind-wilted wanderlust: of lonesome mornings.

First to be penned 

synched to that crimson pulse ink

but last, to be shared 

hidden in those corridors where outed-truth

can’t cut anew 

time harvested feelings, that never ceased

their incessant bleeding.


Cherished one, know that I will stay true

to that last blink of sanity

keeping from a distance

that promise I shred 

while by your side.


Macho rugby-shaped eyes

that watch, pluck and steal 

in the name of empathy rhymes. Yet

stare dormant at funerals 

till elders, usher them out-of-sight

for disturbing, those visibly grieving.

Brutal eyes that melt 

gushing, barely contained

by oversized eyelash dams

with just a fleeting recollection: of your laughter’s silhouette.


Memories, serenading with your lips

lipstick-less au-naturel fullness

with magnetic Vaseline gloss 

as twinkling guides 

to that sweetest of nature’s delights.


Kind one, blessing with reveries gifts

of laugh-out-loud bursts, or

secrets - wrapped in stifled giggles. 

Traversing decades in a pulsed skipped-beat

lost, within a yearning\'s mental embrace 

weaving - grey aged patience, believing

in the coming of opportunity 

where, with unflinching certainty

I shall approach first - for a change

and cast my flag firmly: upon your effervescent sails.



© L. B. Mek

March 2020