In her dark eyes thou canst see thine own mortality
And with her white arm in some imperiously indolent gesture,
Long fingers carelessly pointing -- rosemary, rosary,
Rose petals rotting on a Sunday -- Baudelaire would like her,
With her nightshade beauty and red lips in a frown.

"Fier et nonpareil," like some rue-flowering queen
And not even the dark red of the faded rose
Resembles the color of her voice, a color which can't be seen
Morbid and beautiful and indolently morose
Et son visage serait celui de Baudelaire ***** rêves...

Jake was a pussyhound in a city of *****.
"Hey man, can I ask for some advice"
--a common conversation-starter device;
I riddled his brain with disdain,
he armored up--
the ignorance card draining from his sleeve.
He once taught me a lesson greedily kept celestial.
Purely accidental--
lost in the beginnings of spring,
he strolled into my daydream,
sharpened his fingertips on my shoulder blades,
my heart struggled to beat under my mind's premonition--
"I ****** Susie, Sally, and Sam. Satan's summer in a bedroom--
needless to say, I was enthralled."

As the landscape of their bodies took shape
in my shuddering skull, the cancer took.
Details--details, more details, pretty please,
conquest, conquest, more, more,
gimme more.

Standing on the porch,
Hand in hand.
We looked out onto the World.
Realizing how much time is left.
Her touch began to feel distance.
Her eyes gazed from afar.
Her body drifted from me.
Her kiss felt icy.
Her smile.
Ah her smile,
How could I forget?
I guess that too has deserted me.

Hold Hands with me
with life
and joy

I will hold your hand
forever
and ever

I wont let go until
you say
you go
you slow

but until then you have
my faith
my heart
and...
my hand.