A modern day Henry VIII
You royally ******* me over.
We get ****** up and my head starts spinning

You giggle out an apology...
                                                      ­                                                                  *******.

I k-k-k-keep re-reading the line above your eyebrow
Stupid, stupid boy.
I gag on the taste of your breathing,
Your face so close our eyelashes interlock.

Strumming your fingers on my rib cage,
you crack my chest wide open.

****, ribs, and heartbeats.
You embed yourself between my lungs
Pressing palms into my spinal chord.

You fill me until I threaten to fall apart, only to gingerly remove yourself.

                                                      ­                         *I think I'm growing up

Bronze bells' breeze of September showers,
Freezing fluttering fragile flowers,
Tearing the time's tide  tactile sense
May leave long  love's lighting lance in  tense.

Crying colors of cold old castles,
Stroke their sticky sounds without hassles,
Slipping silken sad sun into clouds
Hide the misty murmuring meadow shrouds.


Dancing  rain drops like bright blue bubbles,
******* birds bringing flying troubles,
Wild winds waving their wet wings around
Ghostly green gird up for glassy ground.

there is a clear, fine line
cuts a path through the air

each step, once gingerly tread
with my balancing pole,
my highwire act of tight control

its a slackwire i walk this time
i'll need my dancing feet
no tension between the two poles
i'm my own pivot point

no time to practice,
i'll make it up as i go along

i'll be over the edge soon
pretty sure there's no
safety net below

but what the heck
it'll make for a great show


--bruised orange

Prelude,
Skin was scorching,  
Prickling our naked ankles.
Whispers of passion—amounting to the indefinite.  
Excitement overriding fear.
Your smirk—it was scorning my wit, but all the while I was spinning—
Trying to outdo you.
Challenging the norm of lovers before me, despite those many warnings.
And yet, here I am, brushing against your infamous lips,
Having more intentions than I care to share with you,
Because I will be the exception.
I, a determined revolutionist bent on transforming your philosophy.
The inevitable vulnerability, the alleged helplessness found by your touch—
You were all talk, and nothing I couldn’t handle.
___

Interlude,
Something encroaches now.
A force unplanned.
It violates me. It breaches the wall of my veins.
Slithering, swimming —
A parasitic force of which I was convinced I was immune.
Biology’s symbiotic model; forever tainted by our act.
For many a love was given in primal flesh, yet goes unrequited in spirit.
I believed I could break this cycle.
I, the revolutionist
Believed I could topple your deeply set pride.
I believed I could crack your shell and pull out the viscera,
Bleeding, pulsating in between my fingers, and let the mass slide from my hands
To fall upon your chest, floundering in plain view.
I imagined that your eyebrow would raise, your lips would part to form a
Contorted grin, you would sigh, and then admit,
“Nicely Done.”

I believed you would be impressed.
I believed you would be impressed…

____

Epilogue,
Wit is waning.
Skin is cold, rotting… and wasting.  
My beautiful body is rotting.
And I cannot admit that you were right,
Lest I would rot more quickly.
Still unyielding to your claims,
Only so you not think of me as fragile,
Not because I think I may win.
Clinging to the hope that you may someday learn to love
This broken, yearning body.
This fallen revolutionist—
All along a convenient satiation of flesh.