Tinkerbell,
You should claim your love,
Your dust uplifts the imaginative,
Fancying the image your Pixie holds.
A tiny ring held your winged image,
I received the token from a dwarf,
Whom greedily devoured its bearer.
I washed clean its sweet carnage,
With your bare left hand in mind,
But when I placed the jest upon it,
The wedded finger held its ground,
An invisible band lay midst its place.
The pink blood on your cheeks spoke,
An enchantment had been yet laid,
The incantations of mine too late,
Replied the rosy blood on my cheeks.
We smiled in the twilight hence,
Reflecting the muted gore,
Shying from its shove.
You should claim your love,
Tinkerbell.

I have done it,
brought myself to pass over.
I bleed farewell to my lover,
she has hated seeing signs,
but best she begin benign
and untold untruth undone,
her life relieved and vows unsown,
I reset,

I have done it,
ended the line of my inherited sin,
the trials and trips my parents did begin,
the one and only son they did depend,
my blood spills forth funneled as the pen,
bad blood bleeds first from within,
not to forget.

I have done it,
grip on your world is fading,
I say farewell to my home to trappings
of this past and mortal beating,
I smile at my release of things,
of being unleashed from the peelings,
do not fret.

I have done it,
my fiendish brain is shot
on the blue starry wall and blots
on this read and written page,
let go of ego and thoughts
and again forever not
spin the vile traitorous plots,
nor burn fires of lecher’s knavish fraught,
no regrets.

I have done it,
new eyes cast over the old shell
rise from the ashes of a living hell,
blood dries whence did well,
winds scatter bones to sail,
I feel the light call my fast reveille,
my fire is set.

I have done it,
our world before me set right,
torch within me shines the light
new fire, new blood burns with might
of death’s refresh that hath smite
the depressed, and risen the phoenix bright,
  to reincarnate.

Courtney,
The name
doesn’t seem like enough
to describe the wondrous hope
stirred in cold coals
of fire long since burned.
You were gliding
off the storm that tossed you
and shaped you.
You smelled singed
by the clashes of shock
in the maelstrom.
You were sodden with the sub-lucid fumes
of unfettered pleasure,
and thus you plunged
out of the vortex
into my cold hearth.
Since I breathed
that first wisp of you
into me,
I am
forever changed.
  My smothering black skin bleeds
away into the sky,
chased into the night
by the dance of stars’
returned to this world of men.

Black swirls cut
like sprites
away from the breath upon me,
and the forgotten embers
presumed quenched
smolder with orange joy and pure white,
yawning broad with warmth
from beneath their dark slumbers.
They stretch
and nuzzle
across their thawing bodies,
and ever more rouse
to the touch of life
and breath of love.
The chuckling of
irony driven clear
accompanies the roar
of renewed life
as these embers within
smile and lick
into the air
and shine
out into the world.
I offer the
warmth you have returned to me
as the uplifting voice you need
to climb into the sky where you belong.
To hold you aloft
(so the world may see
the love you kindled
in my now burning heart,
so that our love shines
into the dark and the cold)
is the deepest wish
of the man’s heart
whence you have become part.
Yet sated not,
To be left aloft
you fan the fervor
that draws my crackling soul
upward with you.
The dance of roaring flame and reviving wind,
so soon began,
now feeds us both
in endless burning harmony.

The man
stepped off
the ledge,
and fell
in love.
The ground
let him
down once.

This morning your smile and your figure stole my eyes from the road, your laugh and your whisper stole my ears from the radio. Only potential death and imminent destruction snatched my senses from joyous past to swerving present. Only the fearful curve of the road brought my hands from the future caress of yours. and my fear felt all the same.

My lips held more than your skin, I tasted you beneath the surface, I smelled more than your clean smooth scent. I inhaled something spiritual and intoxicating, I swallowed something sensual and ethereal. A vintage unfamiliar, a drunk not love-punched, a buzz without birds and bees. Crazy driven crazy driving.

No wonder my hands held your hips instead of the wheel, my eyes sought your beauty locked behind them instead of the drive ahead, your hands against my chest sent my heart racing as well as my car.

My poetic heart will be the death of me.