Featured art by Android Jones. Click title image to visit his studio.

 

 

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Akira Yamaoka “Love Psalm”

 

 

 

 

Whatever the weather
I’ll never feel cold in your arms
They could put me to death
And my very last breath would be charmed
With veins open wide
I confide of desire to be mortally wounded
And grievously harmed
This love of ours need never be concluded
Should yours be the one vital fluid with which I’m embalmed

 

Of course there were fears at the start
Not too proud to admit this
Howbeit, I just put them down to mere altitude sickness
Need not God as my witness
Have never flown higher
Shall evermore soar
For the one I adore inspires the belief I can reach for the spire

 

I crave the sweet warmth
Of inferno you burn
Thenceforth
Raise the equal in fire
In your bosom, cathedrals ignite
Splicing passionate splashes of spice to the blackest of nights

 

The winds of the Northern seas dash heretofore unseen
Crouching forlorn before thrashing white tides
Seems incautious to see them denied
Thus, we reverently lay them aside

 

Through murmuring waters they stride
Altering course as we guide them
Provide them the light to delight as we gorgeously glide
Chasing each wave as it breaks in our wake
Within our embrace, all four seasons collide
Forming allegiance to legion we pride

 

For whatever the reason
I’ll never be leaving your side
Such loyalty simply our nature
Hands of time bracing akin to the silk on the china white skin of a Geisha

 

‘Tis thine ruby red stain famed to ghost through the fabric of me
Faith reinforced as it courses my veins
Braiding each platelet emphatically
Eyes open wide
Wide awake at my very own wake
Only get the one life, give or take
And besides
Small talk of cruel fate nowise matters to me

 

Whatever the weather
I’ll never feel cold in your arms
They could grant me a beautiful death
And penultimate breath would be spent on requesting one final kiss charmed
For each time you open the gates of your heart
The music of chance leads the waltz we so gracefully dance
Under same moon
One fine day to advance
Fingertips touched
Palm to palm
For such is our infinite psalm

 

 

 

 

 

Richard Charles Stevens

 

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

 

 

 

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