in the summer:
she poured peach wine down my body.
she folded her paisley hands into my hair.
I made art for the dead prostitutes and the dead carpenter,
and I made art for her.


in the nightclub:
when the floor was red with liquor and gunshot, did they know?


in my heart:
I’m scared that I’ll betray you when the rifles bring us down;
I'm only hoping my switchblade can protect us now.


a mass shooting in a holy place
in the summer
I heard bodies dancing and laughing
I heard bodies bleeding and dying
I heard bodies
I heard bodies
in the summer


when I taste like judas, will you tell me?
when we exit the tobacco smoke, will you tell me?
I’ll betray you,
I’ll betray you, and I don't want to,
because if I could only breathe in your daisy chain hair,
if I could only breath in your summer eyes,
if I could only breath in you,
I’d be singing of my revival from the hanging corpse life I have been living,
and my aunt lisa’s gonna weep when I tell her about you.

B-lankets and pillows never felt better
              no matter what surface wearing you + me sweaters
A-ll night under street lights after working so hard
           comfort squeezed tight between red and white cars
J-umping from tree trunks to bounce on my balcony
             or tripping through doorways lamenting your exiting
A-bsolving my Queen of hearts choking in barren land
           between seats, belts, and borders holding your hand
N-estled in bed two children and Halo on your head  
              lips of flames lost and found ignoring what was said
G-iving Forgiveness for Arrhythmia of Heart
            remembering the beginning  going back to the start
A-ccepting that no matter how far apart
           We are the creators of each others art.

You've got the biggest smile on your face but no light in your eyes.
Your ******* are over-exposed, and you're slightly less than flesh but much more than bone.
Nobody remembers you now except in black and white,
In headlines and articles; your existence summed up in a single sobriquet.
You're the Mona Lisa of tragedy, a painting created with camera flashes,
And your nakedness is clothed in speculation and mystery.
The scandal of an era; defamation and declarations of promiscuity,
Ripping away your personality, tearing off your integrity.
Left even less than the mess your artist carved you into
After the insatiable appetites of the vultures picked your image dry.
A mere carcass where once there was a body of hopes and dreams,
Posed to perfection; you're the model everyone imagines you to be.
Beauty personified, everyone is an admirer,
Everyone wants to take credit for creating a masterpiece,
Yet there is only one person that can take credit.
Only one person responsible for transforming you
From the ordinary beauty to the extraordinary artwork.
You were transcended into eternity.
Only your artist and his methods remain secret;
A sculptor, a painter with an eye for an eye-catcher.
You're the flower that was destined for fame,
Even if your petals had to be cut up first.

I want to see you cry
One tear at a time
With or without sound
As they hit the ground
I want to see you cry

I want to hear you beg
With what little pride you have left
But this time around
Turn up the sound
Cause I want to hear you beg

I want to feel your pain
Hotter than any burning flame
As your world in and out
Burns to the ground
I want to feel your pain

I want to smell your fear
Before you leave here my dear
If there is a doubt
What it's about
I want to smell your fear

I want to taste something sweet
From the hand of bitterness to the kiss of relief
Where you're no longer around
To drag me down
I want to taste sweet relief

It isn't a longing for moments anymore.
It's a longing for skin.
The way the cells embrace,
the way lips long for lips.

Hands to be locked.
These palms for you to read.
This face a desert
In need of your rejuvenation

The way fingertips long for flesh
To manifest goosebumps
To traverse the back of your rib cage
With both hands.

The way the air longs for whispers
In the dark where moans live
Vocal chords for ecstasy
The way love longs to be heard

I hear you.

Today before it rains, I'll big a big boat and sail away in irregular sleeves.
Big floppy ones that hang below my wrists.
Cut little slits to slide my thumbs in.
Then I'll buy a telescope and peer through the wrong end,
Thinking far left when everything seems so right.
Sailing in a pool of rain on the perfect day.
Of all the things I brought from the store.
I still find myself being the main ingredient of a certain stew.
For each drop that will fall I will smile.
Maybe a tad bit old fashion. But who else can see things exactly as I do.
Splashing my shoes in odd shaped puddles.
Today before it rains, I'll think of something a bit more subtle.
Something a bit more complex.
Hell I didn't have anything else better to do so I thought of you.
Wondering exactly what you'll look like from the other end of the telescope.
So far today has been strange.
Buying a boat for no particular reason.
Seeking kaleidoscopes and telescopes,
Waddling my wrists around in odd fitting sleeves.
Climbing aboard my boat waiting on the rain to pour.
By chance if I were to see you on today of all days, and you were to ask why.
My reply would possibly be the most simplest thing I've ever said.
Taking nothing odd out of context, Or the extra length added to my sleeves.
I'd simply reply.
Hopefully sail away from you.
The telescope was just to distract you