Lipstick: the muse II


She paints prayers with your Lust
Red ochres rising, from her earth
Crushed petals veiling laughter
Over sweet nights cried back to her soil
And blinking back mascaraed lashes
A summer sun, a mirror hung
From ripened breasts.

Blessed, your eyes
Shadowed by two birds
Heavy and thoughtful, suicide
Upon her body of life.
Balanced here, passion a calm moon
Placed before a kiss.

At the moment of entry
Your palm, laden with Jewels
Of pink and red, a bold perfection
Angel’s furnished from her womb
And your fingers over her lips
Each a pilgrim in prayer
Returning season after season.



(c) A Hannan





The Heart of a Poet

Dried leaves,
Autumns township
Kindled by a night of prayer,
In his own shade
The seared breast
Laced with desires spine,
The Poet’s golden horn swoons,
Spreading its wings
Turning in, a silenced pedestal
Fragranced with bouquets
Of invading beauty
Until, the heart opens it
And we all follow…



(c) A Hannan

Caress the Sky



I kissed a poet last night.


Out in the field of compassion
A royal blue sky lit with candles
Hung as a ceiling, a quartet of soul sisters
Singing, an empty cup overflowing
A river of scarlet lips in prayer,
The experience of this companion
Calling to every inconceivable crevice
Of this passionate body.


I kissed a poet last night
Igniting a pilgrimage of stars.
Oh! What a shipwreck he has made me.

(c) A Hannan

Meeting Places III

Apprehensive, as icy chills swept across my skin,
snow under my stiletto boots grey and dusty from traffic
making me think back to sun, sand, surf and bronzed breasts
while I reached through the cold, french tipped fingers biting
at the brisk air to ring the doorbell, listening as an irascible reply
bellowed like thunder, rolling along walls in ripples
until it finally trickled to a haunting whisper announcing my arrival.
I could feel him on the other side of the door,
almost hear the slow smooth rhythm of his heart, beat
like wave on sand tugging at a year of planetary movements,
sun rotation slipping across my cherry coloured smile.
The door peeled back on it’s hinges like he had parted the waters
of Babylon and I feel into his arms like a leaf plucked and caught up in a draft,
left to drape around a pole of steal and resolve.
He warmed to my touch, grasping me with a smiling,
holding me there, our heartbeats meeting in a moment of calm
as our breaths chased one another, finally succumbing to each other, abated.
He ran his lips slowly down my neck, lingering along the line of my shoulder
like a wine connoisseur savoring the delicacy of vintage grapes,
filling his nostrils with the scent of 30 years of loving him.
His lips reached back to my ear whispering something,
just below audible, foreign tongue catching on my lungs
like the rich succulent tobacco from my argille,
sweet, arousing, suffocating me. I’m speechless. We paused
there on the threshold of eternity as one thousand lifetimes slipped
between us, building a bridge to hold us to infinity.

I turn to my girl friend, laughing as I notice the expression
touching at her soft hibiscus pink lips.
well, that’s how I image it, that first meeting
…when I let my mind escape





(c) A Hannan

The Art of Subtlety

It is not a surprise that you see at all!

All poets are in love!

You see beauty, and we are surprised.

As I write this, your Beloved waits

Where you hold the unveiled,

Where we all wait for love,

Yet we, excluding you, do not know how

To shiver from a dizzy kiss in the arms of love.

You see your Beloved’s hand on a golden shore

Wreathed in jasmine, bathed in moonlight,

And we, we keep our wings in your hand

Learning your subtlety.

(c) A Hannan