Anam My Cara

                 for Beth

Two voices, left / right columns. Poem should be read left to right; in performance, the first and last words of each line overlap the last and first words of the corresponding line in their twin column, effecting an overlap of echoes and imagery.



Lady Delilah of the Sterling Dawn

scent of sperm or of apricots

the moon carries your candle

as dawn scissors forth, splaying

threads of gossamer light

your love burns as it blinds

your pallor as full as the moon’s

 Personal Persephone

 brain scent of apricot and smoke

 candling your eyes in orange hues

 as dusk abducts the day

 threadlight dividing night from day

 your love here beheld as passive

 like the moon you flower


          in darkness

Mirror / Mirror, eyeing me gently    

Contrasexual Soul Reflection    

idea converted from emotion    

you recede like an eyechart    

but as the room lightens    

the sharpest features of my face    

recalled from the eyes’ corners    

Lady Penelope

Suprasexual Soul Lover

from the womb of twin ideals

like eye characters, you approach

while the room darkens

your signature bleeding water

from your isle of oceans

              you are    

Always hazy to the mind

impossible to understand

stripped of identity

 amidst the light of all facts

with too much of this

as impossible to suspend as

in too deep, so seeing it through

Difficult to comprehend

deviant to the rationale

and riddled into mystery

contradictions alight in flight  

and not enough of that

a house of cards under water

we separate only when collapsing


Here you are, turned and turning

fleshed from sweat, now from dance

a splash of hair against first light

threads of gossamer pirouetting

now in the closet of my arms

 heart pumping air to its own rhythm

clutching back to back, necks turned

Body warm and warming

conjured and summoned in dance

hips thrashing in the nude dusk

spiraling face down to face away

from the wrap of my arms

flesh sensitive as a shroud breathing

kissing me obscenely

          you are     

An attraction, not distraction of

a sentience too sensitive for clarity
pen that stirs away its own reflection
mouth that spits inside itself

smoke that draws its own flame
to love’s most thorough involvement
as the desire to know burns beyond

Distraction cutting me with passion

this incest of soul eclipsing flesh

straw drawing from both ends

snake mouthing its own rattle

trails of smoke pirouetting to dance

loneliness no one can imagine or survive

to know oneself is beyond all


Love of gods smolder at fingertips
embers of you rekindle in thought
a beauty too deep to contemplate

to see the pain sheered through

lights to which the mind forks open

to a greening field certainty of home
corridors of everchanging embraces

Moon as a hole into another room
you a dancer through and through
creating the very love love  contemplates

between two darknesses, two lights

a yearning shaking the flesh with hope
tiny room off the foyer of our arms  
making our little room



--- Chris Custer