(A Senryu poem)

Oh Cupid, God of
desire & ****** love, please,
next time hit us both.

> 2:50am
So, I asked about fairy wings
when I was 11;
   you never delivered.
   In case you want to make up for me,
I will be just fine
with a true lover instead.
That should be easier.
Isn't it?
<
-Delivered 2:52am

-New message 2:53am
From: Santa
>
I'm bringing you your wings
<

In the cold, dark
        of January,
         I remembered
              you
        the most.
  As the chill
      snapped bones
              like branches,
     as the afternoons
   bathed themselves
in gray,
     as the birds
and the backs
      shook,
so did my lips
   around your name.
I'm so happy
     January is almost
over now.

My inner self
wears a devilish smirk
mocking my healthy living.

It’s seen this cycle
many times before
life’s not that forgiving.

Smiling because
it knows my truth
whispering in my ear,

your pleasure lies
in pain my friend
this act is insincere.

Get up early
eat an apple
run a mile or two.

Unless you wipe
me off your heart
self-worth will not accrue.

You don’t believe
not yet I know
from here it’s plain to see.

Because I am you
not drugs or *****
you cannot hide from me.

(explicit)

**** my soul
        with poetry
           scream out my gracious name
             slay me with words
               that peel my layers
                and simultaneously
                                   drive me
                                           insane

finger me slowly, hotly
with just the right rhythm and rhyme
    push me past my
                 tender limits
                       into tongues of syntax,
                                                      sublime

a­lliterate my senses
   (in swift stac
                    c-at
                           o)
until my mind is but blank verse
    mess up my stressed
              and unstressed syllables
in unsung language, versed

I will speak to you in vowels
(the only sound
       I will be able to make)
as you stroke
   my iambic pentameter
             in the heat of frothed-up
                                                     ache

we are this heroic couplet, you see
        even if the meaning seems veiled
           no need for simile or metaphor
               as I feel your chest rise
                              in deep inhale

we are a natural paradox
       so many ironies abound
         discordant harmony
is our synaesthesia
     in visible darkness found

and I love this delicious enjambment
as your aura invisibly slips
                               into mine
our lines have no beginning,
                                 no end
    as we undo
          the boundaries
                      of time