Lies pass away
Like rainless clouds.

Dishonesty is crushed
When it turns into a dictator.

These are moral values,
So pious, so perpetual!

They are the young moon,
Glittering and giving light
When the world is in darkness.

His fingers glide down me as if he knows my body like it's his,
I bet he knows that just his touch alone sends chills down my spine.
I try to concentrate on his pink tainted hands but my focus lingers to his pale lips kissing my neck with his naughty hands on my hips tickeling me as he guides my body along his, and the music. He knows i'm his now, he has me in the palm of his hands and before I can tell him, he trails his lips to my ear and whispers " Babydoll, you'll never find someone who loves you, not even me"

At times I refuse to believe that
Racism exists, other than in
Movies and jokes.
It is just too ridiculous a
Concept.

In a world overweight with
Selfish, hate hurt, grudge holding
Beasts of Barely Men
With gold lust in their bone
Marrow and gold dust on their
Minds working to make it all
A miserable place for everyone else...
Judge from colour?

Who can afford to exclude the
Good ones, over something
As sadly superficial
As skin?
Angels and devils walk
Within all shades of
Man
Alike.

I touched skin I used to know and tasted lips I used to crave.

Little did I know that letting you back in simply meant my backbone had caved.

often it is the only
thing
between you and
impossibility.
no drink,
no woman's love,
no wealth
can
match it.
nothing can save
you
except
writing.
it keeps the walls
from
failing.
the hordes from
closing in.
it blasts the
darkness.
writing is the
ultimate
psychiatrist,
the kindliest
god of all the
gods.
writing stalks
death.
it knows no
quit.
and writing
laughs
at itself,
at pain.
it is the last
expectation,
the last
explanation.
that's
what it
is.
from blank gun silencer - 1991

Bloodied and bruised lips,
I enjoy the taste of iron passion in your kiss.
Tears filled with too swiftly spoken words and
feelings never to be expressed well up then slip out and over,
leaving salty trails of dried up promises, of joy of pain.
Dark smears of mascara mark your otherwise flawless face.

I can read your need.
Our stories are intertwined and older then the cave paintings depicting hunter slaying prey,
and just as primal.

Sing me no sweet lullabies.
Rather pound me into the moist earth with your crescendo,
your dirge,
a harpy's cry coupled the siren's song.
My lust will answer in kind.
Rising proud and *****, a soldier standing tall, fearless, with yearning gaze searching the worlds between us, welcoming you, the enemy, more friend than foe, into a dance designed to wound,
Cupid's arrow through our heart.

The only peace we will know will be the quiet of the field when the battle is done.
The only victor the carrion crow,
a ****** of beaks to pick over our shredded skin, our false pride, our misconceptions.

It's not the bride who cries on this wedding day.
White virtue walks the aisle splendid with beauty that shines from within, sending my ghosts screaming as they are replaced with a spirit far more profound.

My knees shake as I lower myself to worship you at your alter.
Any more sacrifices and I'll be dead. I am laid bare before you, every layer pealed back, raw meat for the knife.
I await your tender kiss.