They all laughed beautifully.
They all smile with pearly arches.
Yet she moves me.
She soothes me.
She smoothes my scars
And she lets me be
And she, beneath her fuzzy tiara
Smiles for me.

My mornings begin with smoke.
The tea leaks with a vaporous lather
And nebulous swirls grey has smote,
As tar dancers unfurl from my cigarette in mixed layers.

But by this ember’s embrace warmer my night grows.
To the side shadows curl and on the wall uncurl,
And for a moment one feels the fire burn away the smoke.
There’s a lingering of fingers and swirling flows
And as trembling sapphires unravel, a semblance glows.

There are remarks and reservations
And promises and expectations
To mingle in the cooling air of Autumn,
And hold things warmer till Summer is again.
The superfluous, frivolous, glorious things
All glitter in the beading sweat,
Yet are vapour in the morning.

My bedside table light ignites
Via letters' curvature, curls of fire
Perfectly pitch black on pages of white.
Through universal syntax words conspire
To inspire images on paper pages.
I can't recall what pages' faces look like
Only fables my bedside table says
Through the writer's words which incite.
Swept up in a tightly written overture,
Summoned through rhythm and a silent hum.
Via letters' curvature, adventure
Is promised and the writer insists you come.
Reincarnation of a writer's thoughts
In distant souls that echo as they're brought.

Gasoline wraps itself around the flesh
And a rainbow flash ignites and incites
Chants from demons, simmering licks and a mesh
Of flames fuming dance and phosphorous lights.
An ancient skeleton, given green life
By rain, now flickers, flares red and yellow
And disintegrates to ash. Caring wife,
Who holds the river on his path below
Off seaward where oars find direction,
Is as shapeless as his watery substance.
While we share in hollow conversation
Death burns with vibrations and vibrance.
But I sit a world away, awaiting
The toxic touch that this death will bring.

I think it's important to go walking.
Motion quiets motionless inner chaos,
Since nothing's as exhausting as talking
Myself to sleep or forces for focus
That fail to no avail like tests of maths.
Sleepless nights, reckless regrets, cowardice
All insights of my petrified past,
While my hair festers with blood like head lice.
I can't surpass the past as it passes
Through my mind in a myriad of grey
Clashing in the collage of mirages
From ages long gone into yesterday.
But when I walk, I see clearly that there
Is none to fear, I see I don't need care.

I am disgusted by illness
Of yellow **** and festered skin.
Fierce gusts may leave me motionless
But the lotions form an ocean
To fail curing oily excess.
Thus this venom sinks into skin.
The blackheads of the king cobra
Rear up in ambushes, bushes
And murky water. Cadavas'
Rot appearing on fresh faces.
For my face, I don't care
But with women it affects how I fair.
The skin is beyond my control.
Though it's only surface deep
It pains me to my soul.

If only fair creatures played with fairness
Then I could have made this maiden happy.
She fair and far beyond me in finesse
And fitness and my heart proving feebly
That I cannot change my mind on her. So
I await when she will chide or charm me.
Choose if my flesh be cared for or hollowed.
For fair creatures are unfair as they tease
Evoking envy accidentally.
Jaded, jealous pieces of mess within
Swing me from fantasy to imagery
Of her and other men, in conclusion.
For this fair maiden has made my heart
Halt hopeless, then with her glass glance restart.