Sag my corpse
in 32 degree weather
through the city of God
where paraplegics dream of running.
“Oh Rhodesian mercenary,”
humble my soul again
like in C(hi)(ca)ongo.
But remember
The revolution starts
on my mama’s bed
at half past six.

So excuse me while I smoke my drink like a Brooklyn Leftist from the 40’s tramples
burning cigarettes on cold pavements where codeine and Sprite
make any Tuesday fabulous because we already suffered from (and for) the goods of mankind.
But before you read me the history of Hatchepsut;
I learned the art of man within the confines of FCC regulations after my ‘Pa threw ******* out the window and made life in the cell not mundane by telephoning philosophical-entendres    
that tomorrow never happened.

He too was from the blood of the ancestors whose bodies were charred on as goods—
whose children now char their bodies with the goods of the goddess of Victory—
the official trademark for the lost Exodus—the blood and blue moribund—
sagging pyrrhic victories in 32 degree weather as homage to their charred ghost (fore)fathers
who preyed to the city of God for bread

Your skin
On
My skin.
The luminosity of curiosity twinkling within.
When you touch me,
Do you feel me?
You could heal me
Of
My sins.
An
Angel
-from every angle-
Are you able
To shed skin?
I will shed you
Of the evils
You harbor within.
I will harbor
Your
Sins
I will harbor the DNA you shed on my skin,
I will anchor on the harbors of your depths deep within
-you could heal me.
Tell me again;
When you touch me,
Do you feel me?

Cover me, please
With the warmth that is you
Gaze into my eyes
Brown fading into blue

Whisper your kisses
Across the silk of my lips
As able hands explore
From my neck to my hips

Lips wish to wander
Slowly dancing south
Calling flesh to rise to
A truly talented mouth

Paying careful attention
To every dip and curve
Fingers, tongue, lips and teeth
Awaken every nerve

Getting closer to the sweetness
Ever still remaining calm
Carefully testing out the waters
The heat and wetness on your palm

You release a moan of satisfaction
The curve of your smile against my skin
I vibrate from your energy
And we're ready to begin

She sticks to your skin like sleep on leather
She's potent as gin and light as a feather
She's spending the night in your temporal lobe
She'll dance in your head, in her sequin robe

A craftsman of fantasy
Your minds beautiful synergy
She's a brainwave
****** electricity

She makes cave paintings on bones
Her pictures mystic and unknown
So much like primitive nature
Running over with every tone

Your mind is domicle to her
Your mind is canvas to her
She grows like wanted weeds, like the clung dirt on seeds
She crawls the minds walls, She's vines all in a sprawl

She's your minds mistress
Making mental mischief
Thoughts you have are her's through you
She's there like glue to intrigue you

Maybe i am going insane,
and nobody notices,
because they're all kinda crazy too.
But not my crazy.
It's said that everyone is on a road to somewhere,
so don't be upset if someone is not walking with you.
But i am tired, and i am lost,
and these feet are weighing me down,
my mouth, it voices abuse, that my ears, can't handle,
my brain is my noose,
my hands seek refuge from listlessness of not being held.
My eyes are tired, they weep tears of nothingness
because my road is being paved
and i must walk it anyhow, without you
And how i miss those moments,
when i had you with me,
those few fragile moments when our paths collided.
And i am sorry i fell apart
because i couldn't bare another person walking with me
because i was so used to being alone.
And how i miss you, and your words
and your conversation, and i could watch your mouth move,
forever.
I can't look back because its too hard to remember
but i know i miss you,
and my brain is heavy from it all
and my heart is wrapped in sticky tape
and i blu-tacked your name to the back of my hand
so i would never forget you, and i am scared to forget, you.
But you were not my crazy, some other kind, but not mine
and maybe i am going insane
but not your kinda, insane...
so i had to walk away,
for my sanity, what is left of it, tagged me on the back, and said 'it's time'.
Still my hand hangs listless, waiting for your touch,
but my arms know there will be no holding you tonight.
Oh god, i cry, but i don't believe in such things..
Funny old thing, in this world, love,
because it comes and goes, at a cost,
and its why my head hangs low from all the insanity that my heart has brought to the table,
in loving you.