(no subject)

[apiphile]

narcissus writes a love song

i have never lived, never loved until now;
so careful with my heart, though i’d no need to be
with the disappointments of the flesh as striking
as the vacuity of souls

the void in me thirsted for more than I could see
until i looked about and there was

me

now I think I’ve met my match,
the mate to my soul, the string to my bow
the beat to the heart I’ve always had
but the face finally fits

i am so glad
to catch my own eye in the mirror.

(no subject)

[apiphile]

final summer

is this what an apocalypse sounds like?
just unjust silence where once there was
a gentle and constant hum, almost unnoticed
until it is gone?

is this what it’s like? flowers diminishing,
shaken only by the unseasonal breeze
as we search fruitlessly for these bodies we barely remember;

what’s to come but the inexorable damp
rising through the soles of shoes unprepared
for the running together of puddles as shores recede
and the smell of salt that grows weaker as it grows nearer?

is this what the end will be?
neither bang, nor whimper
just a banal wrangling over the grammar upon our death warrant

and the unheard silence in the decaying symphony
that was once alive with low warm hymn
of the bees.