Ode

Barring any unforeseen
pomp and circumstance,
our alluring dance shall proceed
until the stroke of twelve
beats us back to the catacombs.
We exist solely to subsist
on such flourishes, physical,
metaphysical, or otherwise.

Let it be known
that I adore the storm superimposed
against the backdrop of your love,
and I ask only that you grant me
similar pardon. In unison,
we are made hard on glassy plateaus,
which may at any moment
be shattered by our livid, lusty steps.

We intertwine so marvelously,
like a caduceus made flesh.
Your every hot, healing spurt
freshens my tongue,
your every moan hangs melodiously
in the warmth between us.

I am moved by the multitudes you contain,
and sometimes, in yearning, I become the storm,
enamored of your softness,
your receptiveness, and depth.

-r. miller

The final stanza is a reworking of the final stanza of a Frank O’Hara poem, also entitled “Ode,” which was featured in “Meditations in an Emergency.”