when you lean down your eyes toward me
I can hear the whisperings of the universe
and when you swing down your arms toward me
I'm lifted into the wilderness
because your lips are wild
and they ravage
you found me fishing for ligaments
or maybe something to join my soul to my body
like another supplement
to feed my psyche
I'm waiting for day break
and the day you take
Tender heart and a night not over
tinder-box cast off
once the fire was blazing
and I miss that love now
in the fragile moments
when my mind can find nothing to cling to
where once I could say
"let's call this day done
and curl together in our shared bed"
now I simply make another coffee
and cough through another cigarette
And I'm sad, I guess
but not so sad about it
write under porchlight; backed by The Dead.
you make my tongue want to do cartwheels in a mouth
who's already taken such a beating from your teeth, it’s almost unfair
(so cruel, so kind, to bruised lips)
(would you save a little loving for hungry hips)
that tongue can be so uptight, sometimes.
the only thing that can loosen her is liquor, love -
(sweet, sharp, a little too much - who does that remind you of?)
spills from a clumsy heart -
i imagine it soothing the flames of burning bridges
and leaving them to rest in ash.
Let the ghosts roam where they may -
leave it be, my lion
you have me
Lips crackling from the heat of campfire stories,
star shaped holes cut in upturned metal drums
beam out their silhouettes and mark your face
You have always been and will always be
Cross-legged you stare solemn at the contained blaze
and I wonder if you wonder
how it feels to be fire
and I wonder if you make those faces
or if sullen is your default expression
I think if you think
that a smile is an awkward thing,
and to align my face and show my teeth,
gnarled and blackening from the constant torrent
of smoke I pour over them,
gives too much away.
Every new day our childrens' joy is as fresh as roses,
Even the birds chatter at dawn.
Tomorrow will be sharp and noisy,
Like the bright spotted splash of wild flowers
That freckle the shaded tawny look of ancient meadows.
How stubborn life is,
It clings like silver in our souls.
In the thick still grey skies
Of a season's bleakness.
The steady muted glow of the sun,
Its sorry circle of gold
Highlighting the snow covered,
Of a winter's afternoon.
Inside the ashes of the fire
Burn red raw.
And your eyes dance
In patterns of pleasure before me.