I know your sky has wilted 
and the landscape of your heart has grown cold
but it doesn’t have to be that way
let me lick your wounds with a honey tongue

Let my heart pour into yours
the fire that devours your gray landscape
and extinguishes the fields of sorrow

In the dark night whisper my name
speak to the moon of your love
and I will come amid the tears
spreading myself over your nakedness

To offer my innocence,
my romantic secrets,
my bones

Take them, 
rebuild your landscape
call me your home

© 2006 Isis Weiss

Finding You

Our passions are arms
that stretch out wide
beyond the mundane.
I search the clean deep eyes,
transparently green.
There is something sacred in their fire
as they draw me in.
There is no down-time in your heart,
no cooling voice in your words,
only sun rays of desire, 
flames persist 
beating inward into my soul.
When we touch,
I will not forget this,
how I came to be here in your arms
is of no consequence.

© 2006 Isis Weiss

Eyes Like the Sea

In the heart of Madrid
by the Fountain of Neptune
there is a breathtaking park,
two old women sell ice-cream
from a cart.
They do it for the children –
as the “pesetas” can’t be much.
It seems the peals of laughter
liven up their old souls.

I sit under a large olive tree 
and watch
as the black winged angels 
slice blood from the sun
And far away a radio plays 
the Pope’s mass of the day.
When did the world loose its fresh green
under the dark shadows 
of those who slither?

Olive trees aren’t much of a shelter
when the Gypsy moon is cast over the landscape.
I rub my dreamy eyes
and change my gaze to the lovers
strolling hand in hand.
They stop at the cast iron bench and sit
embroidering their arms like
flowers around each other.
The air is sweeter now.

I don’t want to recap the thoughts
that darken my world,
I only want the green glow of fire flies.
I behave as I’ve been taught by the nuns;
Sit up straight as royalty girl!
Refuse to fall in love,
Give your chastity to God,
Or marry a man with eyes like the sea
and let your longing sail away with him.
This last thought chimes deep inside me
like the yellow bells atop the cathedral.

© 2006 Isis Weiss

He