Amoureux

"What gesture of grandeur
may I summon for you?"
I asked myself unduly.
In my heart de rigueur,
the crimson clots imbued.
My veins beat unruly.

O muse, O destroyer,
O creator of my love:
I never, ever concealed;
O my blessing
O my low and above:
let my ardor be revealed.

The deep decadence of my death
was closer
than the levity of life.
The discountenance of my breath
exhaled
the brevity of strife.

Now I bare my chest:
rib, to morsel -
flesh to bone.
Organs neatly dress
in torrid tallow -
the bloody throne.

I slice my heart,
strand by strand -
each affect filleted.
You may hold each part
and understand
my rouge crusade.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

even though the muse will not always cooperate...and she may frustrate the hell out of us sometimes...she understands us better than anyone...and she allows us at times to "bare our chest, rib to morsel, flesh to bone"

and even when it hurts...she is our therapy...

yes, "that rough crusade" of words.

j.

[Dalton]

Thank you Jacob for your insight! I agree with you wholeheartedly.
Pardon me for pointing out that the final line in the last stanza reads "rouge", not 'rough'. Perhaps this has significance to your interpretation.
In gratitude,
D

[jacob erin-cilberto]

how did i misread that word? mmm okay...shall go back and revisit with that in mind...thank you for the correction, Dalton..my mind often needs editing these days.

j.

[Dalton]

I wasn't going to point it out, as I contemplated whether rough or rouge was a more congruent word. It's better to have a mind that needs editing, than to have a mind that needs creativity haha. I'm the same way, my friend.

[Alfred Kukitz]

Imbued with a dignity that reaches into the bone of the muse.

regards,
al

[Dalton]

Thank you Al for the succinct review. It says much, and has me thinking.
Salute,
D