Poetry: There is a Pale Aching by David Calogero Centorbi

There is a Pale Aching

Your blushes asked me
once for lies.
The asking withered off the tongue.
Sometimes, there were sirens.
Sometimes, silence etching
broken hearts on bedroom windows.
You saw grace in cracked
bouquets. Felt forgiveness
on cold fingers.
In the bedroom,
candles dripped a sordid wax–
your short hard breaths. Your silhouette
crying to dizzy satin sheets.

I offered you
the places you tried to forget,
the confessions
turned to blue stone,
the sweet taste of moonlight
cupped with unintentional supplication,
but you just smiled
and whispered:
“Harm smells like freshly
cut grass, its deep brown eyes
tease like bourbon,
and there are only so many prayers
the frigid black sky can hold
until it finally drowns
you in its merciful rain.”

David Calogero Centorbi is a writer that in the 90's earned an MFA in Creative Writing from the Now, he is writing and working in Detroit, MI and is the author of Landscapes of You and Me, (AlienBuddha press) and After Falling Into Dissarray (Daily Drunk Press).