Words, the blood of poets. Slick, wet, hot, pouring over the page in a curtain of sultry satin red.
so many faces
and none that hide
the razors
under your skin
avoid mirrors
hide behind
beautiful curves
so none can see
just how weary
you
are
just – you think – stay too busy to think
and outpace the demons
except, the one.
who can make your devils
His own
captured.
in stolen light;
curved, come-hither
smile.
regal gypsy
fools-gold
if the best of us
were the kind of fools
who knew the price
of you.
there is something
ephemeral
about a touch
it makes me think of
a kiss
on the palm
a cold nose
against my cheek
the accident of life
that makes a cool breeze
feel like the world can
breathe
how do you forget
how it tastes?
say, a grape.
succulent, sweet, and leaving you wanting more.
you don’t.
you try an apple
or two
watch the sky
hoping a cloud
will tarot a new shape for you
and you smile
because it is a beautiful day, and an apple is nice.
but,
you think
that grape.
words are
hidden barbs under the tongue
spoken between bloody teeth
spitting bone and clots
to mark your passage.
I harbor strange dreams.
at night, I inhabit
locales of wonder
tripping over
rusty, gold-glimmer crooked grins
lavender scented heart-stones
discarded keepsakes (lost, not broken)
this one, here.
I named hope
but I’ve forgotten
why.
(not) finite.
(you) misapprehend my hunger.
here. hold your hand to the night sky
to measure its depth
by reach
or
close your fingers
around the stars
and
tell me
how many
you can hold
tell me
the distance between the darkness,
your captured stars,
and my
hunger.
tell me
you already had this dream
that the sky
is no darker
than the belly
of my beast.
tell me
you understand that submission
and salvation
can both be found
on your knees
you are a constellation
a map of suns
bright enough
to see through closed eyes
this is your last chance.
the last open door
the last bit of daylight
the last choice
before all the rest
belong
to
me.
be the rain for me.
kiss my cheeks
and bless my lips
hide my tears
with your own
wash away
all things
but
this.
(the rain)
(and you)