Poetry: There is a Pale Aching by David Calogero Centorbi

There is a Pale Aching

1

 

 

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.

 

 

 

2

 

 

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.

 

 

3

 

 

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).