autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.


Born of fire, imagination, and myth,
cobalt and coal encased in flannel
harkening older cloth and culture,
ancestral memory spirals in my mind

Cináed at Lia Fáil, sweet duet;
his cry, mingled with screaming of stone;
before even that threshold, he was my king;
ancient king of the heart, animus

Riogh Cináed, raven hair’d and sky-eyed;
silent speaking of mastery and mindfulness
from mythical Tara, through centuries, upon a horse called dream,
he crashes the keep and sets sweet ruin to me

They never speak of his wife, though surely he had one;
at least one son is known to have received legacy;
it matters not; dusty history is nothing when
symbols and sigils carry truth in the night

Named and yet nameless, I know him unknowningly;
never a blue-eyed, dark-haired man passed that
my eye did not follow; everywhere and nowhere at all,
the man who does not exist, all around me

The memes and themes entwine, pulse, and unite;
spatters upon the page, silk upon skin, wine on lips,
melting sacrament to eager, seeking tongue;
intellectually sated… physically bereft

A king, a farmer, a silent, strong partner;
his words are peace and perfection
his hands shape worlds within my mind
so much more terribly tender for being untouchable

Aches of ages,
between hips and lips,