I am an afterthought,
...a paper dream...
folded and forgotten
in the pocket of your jeans,
A stolen kiss,
lost in your flee
from the sweet store,
The shadowed curve
of a crescent moon,
half of a whole
dangling in sacrifice
to the stars that outshine,
a final teardrop
before the slaughter,
purged into edges
of loves last breath

I am the jagged silence,
of a broken wish,
a jaded blade of nexus
lodged into the soul
of a heart unguarded,
your fingerprints still linger,
fresh upon the handle of promises,
reflections of a smile on loan,
burned into the sword before the slay...

I am the fragmented child,
in search of a voice, that beckons,
whispers are the only map,
I hold on to the edge of them,
illusive tracks of this runaway train,
screaming through the darkness
into the light of your voice
aimless feet, a step ahead
of destiny,
always two steps behind
the crossroads
of that place
where love awaits me...

Petals from my hair,
blow into the passing winds,
stealing your breath
from their fragrance,
fading the velvet colours
into stone,
as they fall beneath
my final parade,
crushed and torn,
mere remnants
left behind in footprints,

...of a paper dream....

Come softly
silver rain, come
softly now my thoughts,
heavy as October's reddest hue
in hours shed these patched conceits
of dry leaves, curled
along the Summer road,
become some vast appalling wilderness...

Your hands, an Autumn dream,
cast a thick red sap
upon the swollen planes of my body,
crouch in a stealth pathos
of grey leopard cells,
as they well, wild with faith
and thirsty prayer...

Come away
from these stale Summer breads,
for your kisses
are a much softer fate
than wisdom, come
the ease of rain, softly
silver rain...

Stay the solemn night
with leaves, bedeck
my perilous flesh,
let it ascend
its grey latitudes
in blizzards of dogwood,
kindling songs on paperchains...

My hands,
string an alphabet
of silence, tied
by hours of rope,
inviolate, palms
clasped to glass, two
hummingbirds, quiet...

Stilled, joined, unbind
to close into fists, come Autumn
the season of bearing,
the rich red earth darkens and drinks
our tears, and now, never
the ease of rain, falling,
come softly,
softly silver rain....

When the  skilled matador kills the  magnificent bull,
he kills the  fear within himself, for the time being,
as a desperate escape, from fear;
but the illusion doesn't last, to his eyes the bull dies,
it's resurrection goes unnoticed, in his fear of death.

The strongest                     of desires,
It
lives and                      breathes,
consuming               the world;
all are               Its         victims
It is
a sickness,                       and
   It
cannot                  be cured,
It is
a never-ceasing         hunger;
   It
can **** a man.
It is
the reason  we       exist,
       It is
why           we hope,
It is
our cause to dream
       It is
the
most dangerous
force
of nature;
It is
*Love.