by Fabrice B. Poussin



Now She Sleeps


Swimming in the salty waters of sorrow

softly caressing her aching flesh

she wishes to tear it away from the bone

swimming in the salty waters of pain

she only wants to explode.


In the daily mists of the first hours

she rises in the cottony numbness of despair

touching the silky robe of past dreams

she hopes the beating beneath her chest will stop

her desires to vanish at last.


The rains of a morning ritual tickle her pores

painful as the prick of a snake’s venomous fangs

burning her passions to the core

she stands behind the glass waiting for the end

why go on, she wonders.


Staring into the steaming aroma of her memories

her eyes too heavy to contemplate the hours

she hesitates to venture into their world

songs of the skies, colors of earth forever dark

she freezes into an icy ball.


Swimming in the salty waters of sorrow

she imagines her body in its joyous cavalcades

the fibers alive in a playful dance

when desire animated the passionate frame;

now, she sleeps.



a black line


Reaching out


Unaware of a goal, she stretches on and again,

leaving nothing behind she glides in her wavy gown

of silk, and lace, and cloud, scents, sounds and tones.


No journey, a state as she knows not of a past,

sees no image of any future to come in the dark;

she is, simple, single, her lips a faint attempt at a smile.


Her body rolls slowly, supported in mid air;

the cloth sings of a new harmony with the breeze;

she surrenders herself entire, to the needs of the creation.


Lids shelter the blues, at rest her breast exhales,

lovely butterfly the universe knows of her presence,

as the golden fibers undulate like the original waves.


She holds a secret dear in a heart like no other,

needing no other food than that of her dreams,

sharing, giving, hoping that a new birth will ensue.



a black line


Sounds of the rainbow


They look up to the realm they know so well

it is far past the last hour or rain and tears

strange hues have taken over the grey firmament.


She dreams of the sadness of days almost forgotten

tilts her head to the shoulder where her chagrin passes

while her soul reflects tones of many rainbows.


In a world hidden deep beneath those dear fibers

she creates sounds from the unlikely origin

the colorful ark vibrates with the murmur of her thoughts.


She draws a feeling of contentment on the beloved features

contagious as the little ladies admire the fireworks in heaven

and they too reach far inside to rejoice in the symphony.



a black line


The Sum of all Parts


As I come to rest my childish head upon the chest,

tender pillow for an endless sleep,

to close my eyes, and take a final breath,

and expire with you, upon your heaving breast.


You are the seven seas, valleys, peaks, and deserts,

safe mother, nurturer of all things,

your embrace is a vise of mist and stars;

in your depth the softness of galaxies rests.


Death is no more when veins share a common blood;

two eat of the same fragrance,

savor tastes shared, swallow a symphony;

when you inhale, a sweet tsunami is birthed.


To rest my head on your soul and vanish,

into you, where one becoming,

as your lips trace a smile on eternity,

conqueror and creator of infinite duty.



a black line


Twinkle of a Universe


Winking across the dimensions

he hopes that she will sense his being

sitting in her room late into the day

she hides into the ebony clouds.


Poised for another stanza pushing through

the tingling intensifies within her depths

not a sound, she feels a slight breeze

warmth carried by a dense icy fog.


Exhaling as if for the last time he stands

against a wall of crystal petals so pure

his breath printing his innermost desire

on the wrinkles beauty cannot reveal.


She has not budged for fear of another tremor

frightened by a presence she is unable to see

she shivers in possible anticipation

hope flowing through every intimate pore.


His attempt will be the last effort to birth

a tether, cordon of a life source to her

his mother, sister, lover of spirit and flesh

for only so may he too survive in the realm.


Curled up as she once was in the calm sea

resting her soul as she might in her palms

hold the newly born infant of her visions

perhaps she will awaken into a soft embrace. 



a black line

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