Linger, Love

By Michael Dorr

Linger, Love, with me as each new Day bleeds
into a star-deluged bloodless Slumber.
Your lingerie lies Galaxies away,
the cold floorboards between Vast in Number,
and the Night grinning that It wants to stay
and whisper to us Its most damning deeds. 
 
Linger, Love, with me as the pocked Moon preens,
her full Face white as a Dead Clown's bleached bones,
and nearby, Somewhere, children are weeping
as we sit up in bed Close yet Alone,
sorting Dead Memories for Safekeeping.
Outside, crimson leaves Dance, arctic wind Keens.
 
Linger, Love, with me as Dawn scalds the Sky
and the bereaved Gryphons in bare trees grieve,
their scaled bodies shining, strong wings stretching,
each Stark Cry a multi-note Symphony.
Ghosts gather.  The Morning is beckoning.
Linger, Love.  There are still tears left to buy.

Published April 10th, 2016


Poet, writer, editor, former publisher, educator, cultural critic, and (briefly) a gravedigger, Michael K. Dorr is a Phi Beta Kapa cum laude graduate of Hofstra University, where he studied film, theater, history, anthropology, and astrophysics.  He is co-editor of MILES ON MILES: Interviews and Encounters with Miles Davis.  He lives in Brooklyn, New York with a Rhodesian Ridgeback runt named Trixie Maybeline.