The Tear

The tear that broke out
of your right eye
left a stain,
marking and lodging, itself,
in a hollow, above your cheek.

Exodus-bound for the valleys and round peaks
of your facial geology.
Flowing through shrubbery of eyelashes,
and staining moistness along your pores

A wink, lost on the rain puddles that line this street,
fed along by a tear that burnt a stain
on the wake of it’s delivery.

The curl, spiralling
on trails drawn by your finger,
wrenching electricity from auburn wires
drowned art of our sorrows
lead that pulls at your desire.

Sweat, conducting salt from the vagina of your thoughts,
synapses screeching reddened blow
powdering your shoulders, sprouting from your scalp.

As you spin your battered arms,
gypsy stonewashed in albinism,
weave us a disk, reflection of the sun
of the days yet born.

Yolanda, forgotten regent
of the stained eye,
threading hair
amidst the fold of her fingers.
Cautious Icarus
veiled in stars,
gingerly tempts the sun.

Yolanda, of the lost tear,
who cradled our friendship on her wounded lap.
Who warmed the cold of our losses, with the fire in her locks.
Nesting and loving us,
from the corner of her tainted eye.

My braided girl,
this is the love we’re feeling for ye.
This is all there is and could be.