I like a man with fire in his bones
And where his head should be,
There is a home.

And I wax and wane like the moon
If you turn away you might miss me,
I'll be gone soon.

A thin sheen of
                  night sky
                                      covers my skin, my
                                                           fingertips,
                                                                ­                    as I run my
                                                              ­                                    hands
Down the literary
                       parts
                                     of what stars wish
                                                            ­ to be...
                                                                ­              something only meant
                                                                ­                                        for you &
                                                                ­                                                    *me

Focus.
  It's how perception alters when the
          overlooked explodes with
                                         prominence.

Stretching this vast expanse of past all along.
Smoking tendrils climbing from my mouth.
I only have one face,
                    Plato was wrong.

And kisses linger, but with time, fade away.
I feel my lungs fill with the entirety of it.
Was I only one,
                     *when sculpted from clay?

If you roam around my house,
              look about,
        up & down,
                           you'll find many paper cranes.

When I feel empty, I make so many,
                     and leave them random places.

You can find them here,
                and there,
          pretty much everywhere,
                              lined up on window panes.

I never felt the need to gather them,
                      and I most likely never will.

If I put them all together,
                 made sure it was forever,
           they could withstand the weather,
                             and there would be a thousand.
              
They say with a thousand cranes,
                       a wish is granted in your favor.

But I have no wishes,
               so I'll sleep with the fishes,
           after my hands tremble to the point of refrain
                                  & I can no longer make anymore paper cranes.

You often told me that
I was your Queen of Silk
and Maid of Lavender Island
and I would tell you that
you were my King of Chevron
with kisses as sweet as
Cyanide
infused with a bout of
Ethanol
and sweet Cherry *******.

You kissed me once
and I prayed that I would die
for I would love to die
wrapped in the taste of
your bad habits
and
King of Chevron sway.