you spread rumors- you spread lies
you'll cover you ears- i'll cover my eyes
you agitate and stir chaos into the ***
i sift through the waste to get what i got
you bundle up sorrow and infest others with strife
i put my hands before me to give up my life
bees and honey and trees and plants
left over for the maggots and then the ants

I wish that I
could fall in love
with a female,
for she would make
a far better muse than
the gruff sailors and musicians
and drunks and men
in general that I am
inclined to crave.

to write about
a painted pout or
skin that brushes against
your own like nylon,
sunlight shining through
the window onto a Cupid's bow
and dancing down to
a delicate clavicle, or
black eyelashes that bat
and blink remorse
into your cavernous heart,
to muse over such aesthetic
delights, would be
ecstasy for my poetess heart.

I linger, staring, at beautiful
women, androgynous women,
delicate, feline women,
stringing words
together in my head
over long legs and
hair that flutters like silk,
and they think I'm crazy
or in love with them.
well, maybe I am crazy,
but I crawl into bed each night
with my snarling, gleaming,
mahogany gentleman,
and I love him madly,
my rugged muse.

looking from below,
                               my eyes fix,
on your pleasure contorted face,
in the acute urgency,
of a lush, leafy tree,
                             undulating sinuously,
in the hands of
                           the winds of sensuality,
**at the very moment of
                                    efflorescence.