She breaks you with every glance your way

Yearning

You should have your own language

And if you did

At times it would hurt

Like a thousand pins

While the beauty, when it came

Carved your heart into shards of bliss

Just being near you is a feat, the inexorable desire to touch, a reaching in all but reality

You leave me starving for what I have never known

A strange cruelty in desire, sunk deep as well whetted knife

Shall not appear to cut.

Yearning

If you were a woman you’d wear

Form fitting clothes highlighting your impenetrability

You’d be honey too high to reach

And your sting would swell, relentlessly

I think of biting your lips and how

Your blood would taste

Would that I could stop wanting, turn from you, bottle my passion and fling it to sea

Would that I could switch off that burning torch or douse it

Truth is, if you lay beneath me, you wouldn’t open your mouth in complaint

Not once I began

You’d be crying for me to touch you again and wondering where

Your self possession fled

Which is why, recognizing this at some instinctual level

You shy away like feral deer

Your haunting eyes keeping pace with mine

The electric whip of fear, glinting in your restlessness

How you rearrange your clothes as if I had pealed you bare

Nude in my mouth, nude beneath my tongue and in the sweet consuming of you

Your thin wrists pinned beneath my surge. Did you say you were strong?

I am stronger. I hold you down against yourself, I’ve given myself permission

To have you all.

Move closer, do it

Don’t repeat the pattern, break it, leave it crushed

Obey me, acquiesce

Do as I say, become mine

Let down your surrendering

Let me unfold you like a letter

Feeling the words of you running in my veins

Assuage the need I have

For your surround and ultimately

That raw cry of mercy

And the murmured echo of devotion

I want you to love me fiercely, I do not ask

I command it.

Return my love, lay your grief down

I don’t care how sorry you are /

Because I have seen now /

The error called “us” /

Is bigger than we are. /

Our tiny insignificance /

Has already burned and turned to diamante ash /

There is nothing to say, to ash. /

It is my wish /

To rage in smoke /

Just as I learned today /

Babies born of smokers /

Usually end up with emphysema /

End up with holes in their lungs like lattice work in chantilly lace /

My least favorite thing is to think of the future and its slick, short, night-clubbing inevitability /

It looks like a darkening banana skin coming down the elevator, hitting basement on repeat /

Vanquishing hope to avoid the insouciance of age, invisibility and the dreg of illness. /

Sometimes I let myself briefly wonder /

What I will die of? Will I be alone? How much will it hurt? Why do you never get used to pain? Is it any wonder they strive to build artificial life? /

Other days it is hard to keep from dying, like the flower opening her lillied face to a desert and seeing the absence of nourishment. /

As I stand /

In ash /

Waist high /

You were /

Not as important as I led you to believe /

I say this, not to crush you /

For I have refused that need to inflict hurt /

On anyone but myself /

You simply never realized /

Because you’re not as brilliant as the outline of hot wax on fingertips /

A well shined bronze, shadows of madness, cages in novels /

That I was half a person /

Unable to understand how to inhabit a world of well oiled souls /

Where people work out to avoid cellulite, even if they are dissolving like white sugar cube inside. /

It’s what you do /

All of you /

Automatrons with data phallus, souls without windows /

I used to think it was real brave or real, real /

To wear my hemorrhaged bandages on the outside /

But it wasn’t. /

There isn’t room in this crowded world for the sick /

Let alone the well /

There wasn’t room for me /

In my parents marriage /

In my well brought up friends houses, with straight backs and braided hair before seven am and tepid eggs in their fragile shell /

No room in my own life, of empty vases because I don’t want, have never wanted, to pick the flowers, the wild scent /

I can’t even kill ants, swarming me, biting my frigid skin at night /

Like once you did, train track lover /

When we were demons and goddesses and liars. /

I wasn’t tutored in appreciation, or deception of how to survive the hanging /

Life bequeaths those of us born in violet hour /

And when I was born, my mom /

Lit up another cigarette and looked outside into the bleak world of wards and cut up hearts /

Not wondering how I would survive /

Her yellow child, her wallflower bride /

But how she would. /

When I was old enough I wondered how I would too /

Over and over, like practicing ballet will invariably deform your toes /

I grew misshapen in my ghosting despair /

While all around me, others who were well and adjusted and filled with jam and feathers /

Wondered what they’d have for tea, who they’d go down on at the office, where they got their hair dyed and how to fix the run in their cheap stockings /

How to bottle it … How? /

I am flying above the world on the key around my neck, the lock is in my bones, it rattles and disturbs me with its pricking /

People tell me to remain calm but I am already doused in gasoline and alight on the lyric pyre /

You watch with a bucket of water at your feet. You stand still and unmoving like every time, nothing is done to save /

Choose a side. Choose a side. Choose a fucking side! /

My nails grow long and bullets make polka dots in my dress like punctuation without sense /

Once more I am the young girl trying to dance away her hurt. Once more the Winter is hot and nothing freezes to kill the pestilence /

A man said on the TV the other day that he had no desire to better himself. A cult leader told us we could become gods if we just lowered our cameras. /

I wanted to learn to tie the knot in my core, right. /

There are golden tickets in the sky if you look long enough /

And it is not even bloody /

Fireworks night Charlie. /

I don’t care how sorry you are /

Because I have seen now /

The error called “us” /

Is bigger than we are.

Thrive

For some

Can inhabit and thrive without the dark

I am not one

It is my wont to roam

Feel the tickling urge of excitement

Trained out of obedience, dark crystal inside maze

Blister unused tongue on your soft edges as we blaze

However old I grow, the longing unquenched, as linen will wrinkle in the instant of wearing

a woman holding herself in cupped hand as she turns in twilight

To brave the sultry lights, bangled, hennaed arms above my head

Sate the drums pounding in my chest, find trance in your musk

Lie in perfumed beds with long female limbs

Some would say it’s hedonism

Others simply wouldn’t understand

Why a 9/5 existence I cannot swallow whole

Surely there are prices to be paid

A reckoning when the time comes

I’ve seen it in all children of the night

When their fast urgency catches up with them

Such terrors I do more desire, than you

So harness me, make me obey your rule

For nothing I do stops the scald

Consumes my sanity and sets me running

Toward music and the gloom of the periphery

Where we who are cursed must sup, to sate longing

Our blood is not content with daily ritual

We live close to death, in the fury of passion

Short our lives be, they are magnificent

Relics of a time before without constraint

Wild and thirsting for motion we spun the world

Off its bloodied axis

Feral

Girl with ire, for you are woman, though you are still

a girl

dark skinned girl, like a fruit grown in midnight

richer somehow, distinct in a world of lost focus

something in movement deliniates this, hones in

brands you ageless in ways

only few achieve

it is your saving grace and why

my jaw hurts from grinding

all the passion I have to pieces of

confetti, ready for your marriage to

status of unattainable.

I had a rule once, don’t fall for girls

who cut their fractured eyes at the world

ruled with upturned, defiant chins

don’t succumb to the delights others see

in that girl who brightens the room with her

brown-eyed glare and gnashing smile

she is merciless, she is cruel at times, cutting

in that barbed way of the magnificient, used to

her fawning subjugates

she is unaware of you and the depths you swim

for she exists only in the light, that hot wattage

her skin, her movement, set on high to drive you

to distraction, as you watch her skirt hike

just slightly above her knees as she talks with her hands, unknowing her own unfurling

not to want anything, not you, not solace

where radiant and hot she stands, fuming

diety, showered, sharp teeth licking

what it feels like to carry that long tongued weight of desire

with adulation and never

all those shuttered years with trembling

closed lips

for some secrets cannot be revealed

save they render you victim to the

longing you want to bear, a willing nudist who buried her unspent confessions, aching for release

she is everything you are not

and yet in a hesitant moment you can pretend

you have the right dial and tune in to her song

that will lull her back from her gleeming audience

claim her yours

surely, surely, in all the years spent thinking of her

you found some way to make her your own?

Some method, spell, isn’t there a means to every wish?

Wordless, you know there is not

the unattainable sit just out of reach

lingering in their fancy of being regarded

untouchable.

And she? She is one of those fine

creatures you read of in novels, who make men

mad and women? Women are not mentioned for

our ardor is pressed flat along with the flowers from

the marsh we collect, I would if I could, string them

outside your house until the perfume woke you

from a dream about me, and you ran, barefooted along rail tracks like urchin dancer,

into my waiting arms, and as I think this, I know

you will no more run to me, than I could hypnotize

a snake not to bite, a feral cat not to scratch, a

pain not to hurt and cripple the daydream.

I don’t have mastery over you, nobody does,

you chew on rules for breakfast with black hot coffee and make

scolding and conquest a daily thing, in the brilliance of your

caramel-centered bedroom eyes, I see only an acknowledging

of control. whilst I, think of ways I might

stand out, be different, have something going for me

that could mark me worthy

it is of course, an impossible thing, a poison dart captured in my throat, quietly

hybernating or dying in drips and drabs

as you will never lay in my arms, molded to my shape and I will

not know your taste or how your lips part

with the first of many sighs, I cannot even

imagine touching your hand or pressing myself, small and hungering

close to you and knowing of what you smell, there in the stymen of your flushing bloom

the myriad ways you breathe in and out, the chorus of your existing, I

stand far, even when near, too far for comfort, perpetuate rain, disguising distress, I told myself as a young woman, do not

fall for the Siren’s call, she is merciless, she will

cut you without meaning, your futile search

for the key to her blistering heart

no closer

could last a life time and you’d stand, unpacking your fools errand, as a beautiful gown will

invariably spoil in predicted monsoon

she is ferocious and untame

the elongation of her beauty

a thing you must only weep over

when alone and inconsolate you imagine

a life time of wanting

what you can never, ever

capture.

Shining silent

She did not say much

Her’s was a rounding silver pause

A singing bowl of watched consideration

When she spoke, it held a soft balance of meaning

Like the weight of the sea pressing on dry earth

They told her she was boring at dinner parties

They said shyness was a bad trait to remove

When she turned toward me, her eyes wet with shame

I wiped her tears and whispered

Surely the best among us, say the most with the least

Surely it is a vital, beautiful thing to turn down the dial

on noise, attention seeking, the cacophony of humans

Fat on ego and the terrible drive to be ahead at any cost

Say less, speak in thought, touch, dream

I kissed her fingers and she knew

Quiet love may have been forgotten in the roar

But it ripples like a beloved glory on the shoulder of great waves

Stillness spreading like silk in a gentle wind

Her cheek against mine, the moon dipping gracefully behind sugary mist

Our hands entwined, saying more than any impatient mouth

Adding more static to a hornblower world, could

Her lips resting without words, so much shared

In thirsty, balm, healing quietude.

Immutabilité – Candice Louisa Daquin — FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

In the afterlife There is always something to do pick up the leaning umbrella before it hits the window, leaving a tell tale smudge clutter. Le désordre le bruit, le fatras, a manic for the mind seeking calm in Upton’s Jungle where only heat bakes rocks inedible cushions flattened by visitations, last nights vestige reminds […]

Immutabilité – Candice Louisa Daquin — FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

Reflections – Candice Louisa Daquin — FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

I reflect, confect, arabesque, meditate cogitate rèflexions in the mirror opaque, convex, invert, perverted lips leaving stain, tea-cup, coffee-mug, wine-glass your underwear torn, scattered like poppy seeds what shall we give birth to? When the time comes to see clearly? (It never will, we are chimeras of body dysmorphia, we inhabit false hope, blind faith […]

Reflections – Candice Louisa Daquin — FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

New skin

I grew up knowing what cruelty was

it curled at the corners of day like

a well fed tiger.

Sometimes I did not think on it much

for I was preoccupied by my own

sense of emptiness and self pity or

just the song on the radio at that moment.

Years later I feel it

just beneath the surface like

new skin, flinty and unyielding, unfamiliar

and somehow horrifying

bleeding like a bruise

as yet unseen.

Maybe the brittle disappointment of

my ancestors, their sagas of

grief, shifting quiet loss, building

like ant hills awaiting flesh to

pierce with poison is my

only purpose.

There is shame in realizing

I am guilty of what I abhorred, this

softening violence, a compound fracture in

my psyche, alarming long held belief

I was kind

when there is no nice affability in

what I sometimes feel

only a wish to burn

deeply, leave charred and dead

those who would harm me or try

to fight, thinking me defenseless.

In that, I inherit the family tradition

of haters, long held like tarnished

shield, we have only endured by

cutting down those who would harm us

we are warriors without goodness

we fight sometimes because we like

the taste of spilt blood on our sorrowful lips

it is a necessary thing, I realize, that I am the last.

So when you tell me I am kind and good

do not use those platitudes so keenly

nor trust entirely, my motivation

I am every bit as wild as that feral

hungry, you bring in from the cold

who scratches you deeply, first

time you mistakenly take her purr

for pleasured trust

for I

know no such.

Never look back

Amidst worry, distraction, hunger, noise,

there is the brand, the scorch of you

sealing me in wax

pressing me to Florentine paper

sending me by leathered mail

with a longing as woven

as pulp that becomes a letter

writing out felted words

my throat cannot swallow.

The world is burning, in once-removed chaos

I find an unsteady peace, imagining us.

Everything is flammable, people smite each other

with little tools and heavy words

we forget our humanity often

we are caught with our pants down

jacking off to lies & hate in little jars

sometimes it seems the world would fair

better without our penchant for harm

but we subsist, in fragments, shards, pieces

of goodness separated and flung apart.

I should be considering the state of the planet

why it’s searing in October, why people

shoot someone for the color of their skin, how

evil can stand in White Houses and other

necessary questions …

but for this cupped moment, I am idle in my desire to save

not a lack of caring, but rather

the need to step outside the fray and

stand in the rain with you .

The rain here is warm, before we met

I did not know rain could be warm

I lived in a concrete trap with sad faced

buildings that many would give their eye

teeth for and I wished passionately, to escape

from

there was no softness in the city of my birth

no reduction of clamor

we spun like dervish on a wheel

forgetful of what mattered in the perpetual lean

to survive

I am here with you now, although

we are often not together, in my etched soul

you hold me every night and the candle

I placed in my window does not go out

for it burns eternal.

A song will reduce me to tears, driving wet

cheeked and aching for your touch, the surround

of your movement against me, a kiss that consumes

my cold center, turns me to the moon

shining and nude.

We are shimmering fish beneath dark water, finding our way

with our mouths, our fingers, the brail of need

containing sea pearls ready to sacrifice their shell

only you can lift me away from

the sorrows of the world and our many

pitted attempts to remedy what seems to be

our nature

only you can run yourself down my stomach

and opening me like a fan, find within, my

raw chorus

only you, with your pitch eyes and raven heart

can cause me to tumble, weightless over white cliffs

into our own private film

playing the days of our lives, for an empty house

the tick of our time, slowing now.

I should clean my teeth, brush my hair, push my

cuticles back and cross my legs in public, but for

the need to wear no hose, and driving 70mph down

empty streets, push you into me, finding

piano keys beneath our lilting surface.

By day I am a plain-faced woman with

ill-fitting bra and the marks of time sponged

on my face like imprints from a wild cat

who walked over me once, twice, forever

as you pull me from the world with your

electricity and I urge you

implore

to not

to never

look back.

Inveterate flatterer

If you let me, if I’d let myself

I’d mention you in every mouthful

Once, at 15, my father said; Stop talking about that girl, I think you’re obsessed!

I was, without yet acknowledging how deeply these things can go

Forget an arrow, your harnessing of me is a tattoo as inked as the one I already have

If you were a sadist you’d say; Good. Now crawl to me

I suspect I would.

Absence is a devour and every hour a little harder

It’s a tortured song locked inside my chest

Awaiting your key.

You, you, you, the bird who flies without feather

You, you, you, the permanent loan against my sanity.

In restless chamber of night, I wake feverish, imagining

Your cruel hands on me, the cull of my longing to lie

Beside you, above you, beneath you, inside you.

The funny thing is, you don’t try, you never have, it comes naturally

Like walking on hands or juggling, neither of which I ever mastered

As you master me with the flint in your eyes and the quiescence of your tongue

Sharp teeth catching against your damson lip, ragged once in a great while

I have become a collector of moments featuring you

The turn of your full cheek set against certain light, eloping into smile

I want to dose you with a spell that you’ll feel

A tenth, a quarter, a handful.

Even as you are a wild thing and I knew it then, as I know it now

A creature who enjoys the pin cushion of being desired

Each gentle intrusion bringing a little fresh blood

Painless for you

A hammer in my heart.

Underwing, in indigo darkness I envelop

My unspoken entreaty and braid it into my hair

With every twist, pulling tighter, for my darling, wishing is

Often pain.