Taken by Hand, Heart, and Storm by Ernest Williamson

beneath the bed
between the sheets
in the camera hidden by the gray mirage of wedding pictures
there
in the cavern of woven leather
resting
on the light brown
wooden
floors
I reside in your supple hand
on your inveterate moments
as you remember
our fights
which were so important and silly
as the limelight of fame seeps
like acid into our bones
we’re artists
all of us who decry with the slates of stone
burning
beyond the worldly noose
constricting
phony smiles
but never mind
anything I say
just make me
listen
as I am trying to
listen
to all of what makes you
strange
like bad news
godly
like mystery
disgusting
like beauty
yet necessary and
essential
don’t do that
that thing you do is so painfully grand
especially when the sun
is laughing at me
shining only on me
and my pitiful make
a man
taken
by heart
hand
and
storm