Lover’s Tango by Stephen Mead

The warm fold of shoulders
turned purposely away…
words, callous dollops
chafing tongues, ulcerous…
unctuous sperm, skin, propulsion
used as weaponry…

Afterwards, a thin dolorous stench

You said we would be brutal to each other.
You said—–
I didn’t believe
rage gathers an apex
‘til skull-struck volts & a shattered glass
mattress brought souls fish twisting
& seared by each piece severed .

How can it be
when desperation once bred gentleness,
when fugitives met, created a safety,
not of calm, but edginess susceptible,
a comprehensive ebb we broke in
& were released by?

Now hands, fingers come back, little
crippled repairs scooping wreckage, its
twiggy plasma, this half liquid, half clay
patch-packed as a poultice
for the feverish children we are

again embracing.


A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is a published artist, writer, maker of short-collage films and sound-collage downloads. If you are at all interested and get the time, Google Stephen Mead and the genres of either writing, art, or both, for links to his multi-media work.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s