In the morning's light her cold skin glows.

You shiver and turn, pressing your body against her.

She feels your coarse hands running down the length of her body...

Your lips roam and pause at the base of her neck.

She shudders, but only a tiny moan escapes.

Down, down

She's gone cold again.

I just have to admit that my body is astonishing.
My skin is other worldly-
I glisten like an alien goddess.
My heartbeats of its own fruition-
air grows in my lungs and blooms
on the surrounding surfaces. I
have a power that lives between my thighs-
and when I focus it on an object-
that object crumbles in my lusting wake.
My fingernails grow to fierce and frightening lengths
and rap upon the earth with bubbling impatience.
My legs flow like water into my jeans
and ***** out of them.
(I make you question your understanding of words like lady,
*****, ******, sensuality, knowledge and maybe even manhood)
Shoulders that drip delicately with all my emotions-
you can feel my depth in the warmth of  my soul
as your hand grazes the small of my back.
I am every song ever written,
every note ever played,
every thought you have ever had
at an ungodly hour
in ripped jeans
and an off the shoulder sweater.
(I am understated provocative librarian ***
on top of a cool metal desk
next to the life changing novel you read,
my back arching over the paperwork you
can’t begin to think about because
of the way I look laying over them
with one stiletto still on and the other caught on my big toe
calling to you)
My tongue is wet with enthusiasm
My fingers are laced around humanity
Every piece of me is alive with the knowledge
That my body
Is
Astonishing.

8am.
the sun is still waking up.
groggy and rubbing the night out of her wide eyes.
stretching her wings to wrap around the great earth.
or atleast america...
i switch on the espresso machine.
she hums loudly as if to say,
"just five more minutes, mom!"
i know, i feel the same,
my dear espresso machine.
oh goodness.
shiny mercedes whipping around the bend.
into MY parking lot? i wait to see...
yes. my parking lot. my shop.
haughty lady all in a rush,
can't stop and enjoy the morning for one second,
the pretty morning.
"um, yeah. i need a blah blah blah blah blah. and make it snappy. i have somewhere to be."
are you sure you dont want me to add a splash of manners in there for you?
no? okay. have a nice day.
it's too early to deal with this ****.
the sun's still waking up.
i haven't had my coffee yet.

The rusty
red earth
created
beneath your feet
is all you have to your name.

Angel laugh
(bells)
Broken lyre strings lining the floor like
carpet

Never look
down.

Don't hide
your scarred knees
from the world
don't cage your beating heart
with your ivory ribs

But rather
bare yourself
to the unforgiving universe

Try until your fingers bleed
and your hair grows silver with the wind
be thankful for every breath that fills your gasping lungs
and sing to the wind that you are alive
with the song still in you.
The ridges of your lips
tell stories of women
gained and lost
like pounds
or wooden pencils
from grade school

Behind a thicket of eyelashes
(downcast)
you weep
and laugh
with the same pair of bright eyes.

Pearl smile
(glint in the sunlight)
safe in the lines of your eyes.

Crane your pale neck
like a swan;
watch the cliff
burst open with sparrows and
rock doves.

Hands.
(tactile)
In your mind the song of color
shower water and
a tri-tone
thick as the sound of thighs upon thighs
helium-light
sorrow-heavy

Words.
The way you say anything
and nothing
clean-cut by the shears of your tongue
at the end of the rope.

Song.
Polyphony of your voice
and the sound of the storm
as you stand
arms outstretched
rain-soaked and cold
with bright glass eyes
and a warm heart
the storm crescendos
with the rise and fall of your hands
rain falling like cigarette smoke
on your upturned face
You taste on your tongue
yourself
passion and salt
slightly sweetened
by cologne
and the grainy bitterness
of skin

Soul.
This vase full of tears
like your breakable soul
(tastes like wildflowers and rain)
this lace-feathered honey hair
perfection contained in one white body
in one frosted-glass soul.

Of all the ****** that i like,
The best would be of lace and white,
But then again, there's so so much,
There's even knickers with no crotch!?,

Those little bras for beginner *****,
Or leather gear, for naughty moods,
And not forgetting Bridget Jones,
Come on girls, we've all got those ones.

Those yummy corsets **** us in,
We'll shake our hips and bear a grin,
To tantalise and tease men so,
Our ***** with tassels on, so guys can, ahem, grow.

Those fishnet stockings cost a bomb,
But ladies, that's why we put them on,
We feel so ****, and so do they,
So that's why we get them to pay.

Silk and satin, black or red,
Or going commando instead,
What then girls, do we love these things for,
Because they'll only be scattered on our bedroom floor?...

I can not hear you, so do not speak to me
The beating of my heart is drowning out everything
Every sound isn't even white noise
I just can not hear
You
at
all...

And I can not feel for you, so do not love me
The beating of my heart was a bomb
Now it's gone
I just can not love
You
at
all...

A metallic seat.
Hard orange plastic.
Strip light sickness.
And I look at you.

Disinfectant scrubs my throat,
sterilising the language I want to use.
And I look at you.

Naked feet, white tinged with yellow.
Invisible socks.
Cotton top welts left in your ankles,
flattening the spidery hair.
So much hair.

And I wonder,
when did you get so tall?
And I look at you.

Sallow face, a dehydrated
caricature of youth, erased and lined.
Needles **** the marrow,
the muscle tone gone but
stubble erupting, handsome underneath.

And I wonder,
when was the last time I saw you?
And I look at you.

Frail arms, thick bandage cuffs
giving little comfort to the empty purple beneath.

And I wonder,
was it how you imagined?

Clean blade?
Neat slices?
Choreographed claret leaving a poignant splash
on your final soliloquy?
Head to camera, atmospheric lighting,
ready for your close up.
Someday you’ll be a star.

Or was it sordid?  
Brutal?
A smashed bottle?
Hacking, mangling,
uncontrollable blood
aimlessly gushing, drenching the rambling note
so the words washed away?
No camera angles.
No haunting memoir.

And I look at you.
And I wonder.
When did you become so lonely?


And I turn away.