Passion’s self-indulgent thrill,
A raging storm undressed.
We point ourselves toward golden hills
Whilst earth and sea feign rest.
The shuddering land’s muted howls,
When into the vale’s descent,
The ocean shimmers black but true,
Both bound for discontent.
Come, stroll along the beach with me.
Before the waters breach.
Dance before my captive eyes,
Your love within my reach.
Gods duel above the setting sun,
The sea bleeds brown and gold,
The village once there, swept away,
Lost lovers now untold.
Salt defiles the wounded shore as
Darkness sinks into the sand.
Never hear the dreadful tales
Of ardor drowning in the end.
We stroll upon that sunken sand
The years have stripped of glow.
My failing eyes, your aging thighs,
Grow tired with each blow.
Languorous Asia, cold extinct,
Lives in memories of fragrant drink.
Others sailed past luring shores
Whilst I flew on her winds for more.
In a harsh and distant land
Where water turns to burning sand.
Her body large, her spirit weak,
Still, her steppes I longed to seek.
I landed in her dream and then,
Rode in coffins of young men.
Come, let me cool you with my fan,
She waved with perfume’s flaming hand.
Her scent and mind were different things,
The first for lust, the next for kings.
Sweat burned through ten thousand moods,
Then left me in her tent to brood.
Tread ancient rivers, climb tall crests,
Litigate whilst we undressed.
Then held in wells to pray or die, or
Tombs beneath a quivering sky.
Her sun for me no longer shines.
I stole the stars so I’d survive.
Sweet incantations sung in vain,
Her invitations laced with pain.
Many lives I’ve been away.
Still her voice calls every day.
Whilst my mind once sought her will,
Time has now eclipsed the thrill.
My World Less Grim
Do you come from heaven’s abyss?
Your gaze both hellish and divine,
Arrives on lines of prayers and dreams,
I am your slave, chained in rhyme.
In those eyes are sunset’s dawn.
Your scent a stormy night.
Squalling kisses wet and cruel,
I am both coward and spy.
We took our vows so long ago
In unruly ruts of spring, That
Exposed those amorous hips that speak
Of nothing, yet control everything.
Trampled flowers, death by love.
Wear those jewels of horror.
Murder is among your finest charms,
Whilst naked in your terror.
Passionata Fragrant Fierce
Weakens every bone.
This faithful fool pants over you
As over his own tombstone.
Whether you come from heaven or hell,
Are you not a monster?
Your burning eyes and crimson lips
Lead me to the slaughter.
Whoever sent you, God or Sprite,
Must revel in refrain. I beg
Each night your soothing whip,
My world less grim in pain.
Stephen Myer is a writer and musician based in Southern California. His poems and stories have appeared in online and print magazines such as Goats Milk Magazine, The Literary Yard, A Thin Slice of Anxiety, The Avenue Journal, and Grand Little Things