I know your every scent by now.
The way you turn, scratch and sigh when
You can't sleep while I very well could
Would be something I'd miss if

Tomorrow saw us apart.
Still, when hands soft as your innermost
Find my weather worn shoulders and
Pull my face to your chest

As if trying to drown me in woman,
I smile against your full softness with
The juvenile intensity of a new born poet;
I will write on you with my mouth's skin.

If you kiss my eyes out, I'll still read
Our joined memories with my concrete-
Torn fingers; the scars we've loved onto
Each other, braille of yesterlust.

Animal carvings; knives and chisels of the
Absence of moral illusion.
In the instant between painful pleasure
And pain, I'll be more home with you

Than in any. Your pulse is ours.
Your moan is mine.
The sweat on your back always marries
That of my chest,

And when you want me to stop,
I'm about to. I'll look at your closed eyes
And wonder again and again and again
How to get you to take this forever.

People say, "Count your blessings".
I say, "Give me a break!"
Tell me something I haven't heard...
There's only so much I can take.

People say, "This too shall pass..."
I say, "Oh please!"
That'll happen but in the future,
What I needed was immediate release.

People say, "Oh I've been there..."
I say, "Oh really?"
But last I checked I was talking about me.
When you asked, I thought you wanted to hear my story...

People say, "Hang in there, the light will come".
I say, "***** the light! I just needed to vent!"
You wanted to hear my thoughts...
So listen and allow me to rant!

People say a whole lot of crap.
Because they don't know any better or what else to say.
When all they needed to do was...
Be there and listen... I promise it won't take all day.

Your glow stick veins are meant to be cracked
To ooze beneath your tissue thin skin whilst smacked
To seep into minuscule puddles across you- trapped
To illuminate your thousands of flaws- mapped
Then to disappear- forgotten, forlorn, inapt.

-------


Regurgitated dreams

and a handful of hopes

slipping grain-like through my fingers

promisisng the earth

as it cracks withered and drying.



desolation and anticipation

brings the threat of pleasure

like the seed of hope without

the chance of bursting open.



Endless gurantees of endless possibilities

and your stupid ******* provisos.

**** the last drop with insistence,

take all you can,

Im already dead inside.




with all the graciousness afforded

you'd think you could at least

turn away when I cry?



Instead you watch,

a look of  abomination

carved into your hateful eyes

and ice cold detachment

running down your spine.



no matter,

I'll be fine;

you were only ever a sympathy case

that grew too wild.



all that tender love and care

without pruning

has a tendency to create monsters



you sting my rosy buds

a sadistic wash of passion red



I'm tangled in your mess,

you might as well lick the salt as well

the tequila slammer hit hard.



I can't seem to locate my vanity

its still missing after that

last masochistic kiss goodbye.

As awareness rescinds, (pulls back like the tide)
The screaming grows louder.
(Attention seeker, like a child).
As feet are lifted (atop hardwood
over concrete over bones)
Further from the earth we grow
(And feel.)
How can you hear them? Them, the beasts that protect life, over
All the static ringing electric currents
Flashing lights
?
Still, the water trickles.
(your Sun, still will he rise)
Whily heavy eyelids divert eyes.

Tantrum habits cry dry tears (those who've not been shaken to their core),
Beg for excess shave down years (this is not what it's all for)

Harvest season for the poor
Reaps more than plenty score for score.

Comfort now lies in divisions, don't cross my line! Come, clean my floor!
Up-nose scoffs toward open doors
(You're still welcome forevermore

Earth is not sorry for
Her mess.
You should  
Be sorry for all of yours).




And the world
The world, it spins.

Getting drunk at the bar
Knowing I won't be going far
Getting high off a line
Hoping for some godly sign

On this city Christmas Eve
I want to leave
But I can't move my feet
Can't face the street

Missing my man
Cursing him - ****
For being two years gone
In his life I was just a pawn

I would let anyone lie next to me
In the darkness I cannot see
I crave human touch
I don't ask for much...

I think about her naked sometimes
I probably think about it
because I doubt she would give me the satisfaction
of touching her in the heat of passion
so it’s just easier for me to imagine
walking in on her in the bath, drinking a glass of red
maybe cabernet sauvignon, who knows, who cares?
a light steam rising off the foamy suds
they cover only what I want to see
even in my fantasies I like to be teased
she is calm
as though she left the door unlocked intentionally
waiting like a painting in a gallery for me to clumsily stumble in
and find her beautifully sprawled in a Victorian tub with copper clawfeet
painted wet-on-wet like a portrait by John Singer Sargent
her milky blue and marble eyes soften my will like whiskey
and I find myself kneeling beside the bath
my hand gently trembles as it glide against satin velvet skin

You might think it's *****
But to me
The things that are *****
You cannot see
You have to
Feel.