I am art-blind: my uncoordinated hands

Flail inexpertly through space – I can’t illustrate

What is when I draw answers to your emotions

Through all my stacks of talentless finger paintings.

But you prove yourself tone-deaf to my art-blindness

As the words you counter-sing to my melodies

Respond without showing due care to what I said

Even though I know quite well that you hear my song.

At least we both possess a good sense of rhythm

Beyond lyrics, beyond shapes easily described

Actions prove themselves loud in the most vibrant way

And we begin together a dance we know well.

Now you listen to me, serenade me in key

I finally see you in full technicolor

And I can begin to paint you in kinder hues

While you strum notes that are no longer discordant.

You have shown yourself tone-deaf to my art-blindness

But as we’re familiar with the same form of dance

We set our emotions free instead to movement

Reconcile in gestures and speak our art through that.

I’ve been so very lonely in my head

With my heart just as empty as my bed

So last night I… I gave myself over

(This confession, it is a love letter)

That I speak to sweet, seductive Sorrow

Who fondled a path down my cheek’s hollow

So as to leave me with my breath gasping

So as to leave me with my breast heaving.

The way Sorrow whispered into my soul

And burrowed into my bones took a toll

I turned so fragile, I’d bruise at nothing

The gentlest nibble left me whimpering

And when I bit my lip till my skin broke

Shaken by the ways Sorrow knew to stroke

The penetrating bliss of Sorrow’s grief

Was the only thing to bring me relief.

So, I plead go from me my resistance

Cast my resilience into the distance

I cease to force a chaste affectation

Lapse from my pious “I’m fine” religion.

In Sorrow’s den, secret iniquity

Made pain feel heaven-sent, not heresy.

Whipped, bled, concupiscence for torment fed

I learned a nakedness not fit to wed.

But the way Sorrow joined me in the dust…

I would gladly leave my ring out to rust

For the promise that I can have my fill

Of the sting and the sin of weeping still.

Thus, I find myself choosing to remain

Leashed, enslaved, at the end of Sorrow’s chain

Moaning pleas for an absolving caress

Flayed open then salted with forgiveness.

Sorrow taught me new heights of sensation

Left me soaked to show appreciation

My voice rose high, wailing for that presence

I trembled, I cried: “End my abstinence!”

Sorrow then moved me, stirred me somewhere deep

Dropped kisses at the places where I seep

Wrapped me in satin and silk, called me “dear”

Woe-touched romances me better than cheer.

For the way you suckle at my marrow

For the way, within me, you slowly grow

For the way you sink in my heart, veins, core

For the way you quake me – I beg for more.

Sorrow, my heart is in your thrall – I fall!

I wore layers of strength – remove them all!

I will shirk faithfulness to joy for this

My in-darkness lover, my catharsis…

Touch me!