Agreed, that love is attraction
    - though not only surface sensual,
      as you maintain,
      not only toward the external -
But that sweet involuntary pull is
      also inward for expansion;
      for interior sifting
      and resolution.
Love is primarily attraction to
      unexplored depths
      of the self.




- fr

------------------------------------
 \ why is it that time slips /                              
   \she slides and slithers /
     \right through these  /
        \ infinite crevices  /
          \found all over /
             \my greedy /
                \ hands,  /
                   \ like /
                   /    •   \
                 /       s      \
              /            a       \
           /             n            \
        /                 d              \
      /                                      \
    / in the dainty hourglass \
  /sitting aloft my skew shelf.\
-----------------------------------------

I can be a better woman.
I can be a better wife.
I can be a better mother.
I can have a better life.

We can pack our bags together
Move somewhere by the sea.
We can say **** the world
Because this is the best we're meant to be.

I'm not a princess darling
You don't ride a white horse.
There's no one coming to save us
You're the hero of course.

So whisper in my ear.
Please tell me one more time.
These broken dreams were never promises
And everything will be fine.

***** *** and cigarettes
bad decisions, no regrets.
Painted lips and fingertips
lace, leather, gags and whips.
Cheap motels, steamy nights
sweaty flesh and candlelights.
Pushing limits, breaking rules
naked dips in swimming pools.
Getting high while living low
riding rails, pure white snow.
Playing games & telling lies
the look of lust in lovers eyes.
Rendevouz in seedy places
sloppy kisses, hot embraces.
Ménage à trios, or even four!
Anything goes behind locked door...
Shots of Jack make it all alright-
just another dirt-bag night.

Throbbing throat from my strangling sobs,
Agony riddles my tingling lips with shades of
blood reds and vibrant scarlets.
All is split to expose the gorgeous hues of  
his love.
Coating my lips in glossy red dew drops while it’s  
dragged across my face like the sunset.
Dripping down my pulsing neck covered with azure bruises.

“You’re so beautiful my darling” his mouth speaks,
but his fist speaks a different language.
It expresses a devoted strike to my eyes to
gift me with its
love.  

Blurry vision greets me while something damaged is  
gazing at me from the shattered glass mirror,
Broken,
Crushed pieces of valuable innocence stares back to  
send me a message which I cannot decode.

My face is blended with stunning arrays of his makeup.
Water colour blues line my tear ducts,
Deep purples create bottomless lakes around my sockets while
rivers spill from my hollow glassy eyes.
Brown and buttery diluted stains dapple my cheeks,
Tender to his touch,
All this while hots streams melt down my face from the  
gloomy lakes.  

Mascara and foundation conceal dull marks.
I only wear his work of art behind closed doors,
For just his eyes to  
linger upon endlessly.  
He tells me I’m elegant with my mouth  
held shut,
Hands burned by rope behind my back.
I am still beautiful, but why does it  
have to hurt?

He calls me beautiful when I waltz around,
Stripping off my dignity at his request,
Leaving piles of my little self-respect on his floor.
If I were to disobey his command again,
The love in his hands will wrangle my small  
neck to breathlessness.
So I am stuck.
Stuck being beautiful  
while being  
in  
pain.