A sky of angry screeching,
demanding,
like a raptor on the wing
doesn't have the impact
that simple warbling brings

With fear of cruel words spoken
love retracts
like claws on birds of prey
and all I loved about you
has now flown far away

Predatory words can rip
into beings
lovelorn at their peak
not accomplishing anything
but the sharpening of the beak

Love me until I am sore

Until I am no more

Hold the daylight in your palm and drag it up my thigh

Not so gentle

Pull my hair

take me

taste me  

touch me

tame me

anchor my skin with your sin

feel me from within

kiss stars from my eyes and blow petals from my lips

Love me hard until I bleed

in 28 days

or so…

I could slit my wrists,
But that would require
One porcelain, bathtub, spotless, white.
Hot water, 65 gallons of.
One razor blade, sharp,
And a mere five to ten minutes of quiet solitude
In which to revel in my misery
And contemplate my end.

Or I could hang myself,
But that would require,
Rope, six to eight feet of,
The knowledge to tie a noose,
An overhead beam, 8 feet from the ground,
One chair, easily kicked over,
And another mere five to ten minutes,
In which to revel in my misery
And contemplate my end.

I could drown myself as well,
But that would require
Trousers, cargo style, with many pockets
Rocks, large and heavy,
A lake or large body of water,
A boat to fish out my body,
And mere minutes
In which I could revel in my misery
And contemplate my end.

No, it seems to me,
That the best way to **** myself,
With the slowness and misery I deserve,
Is to simply keep loving you,

For that only requires,
One fool, old enough to know better,
Two hearts, one easily broken
The other bitter and jaded,
And a long life,
In which to revel in my misery,
And contemplate my end

The strangers sat
before the king,
their lips were flat
and eyes were ringed.
It was smoky in that
enormous room,
the vapors and gases
being ornaments hanging in the air.
"For what purpose were you there?"
asked the savage king,
whose eyes were darkly burning
in a face deeply sinking
in on itself.
With feathers in his hair
and paint dried on his skin,
he floated in the air
far above his kin.
Cortes knew the power
hidden deep within this man,
though alien in the hour
of this,
a continent's last stand.
With hands as white as snow
so deft so quick so sly
the contract was unknown
to that great man in the sky.
"To see and meet and greet you,
O' great man of this
strange
and foreign land."
Their eyes had locked in place,
two triggers pulled back taut,
waiting to erase
what the other sought.
Be it gold or riches or
love or power or fame or
ivory coated witches
that were taught no shame,
the two titans did not know
the immensity of the moment,
the branching of the seed
from the future calmly planted.
The trees now grow so far
they cover up the room
where two great conquerors once sparred
while destruction darkly loomed.
A storm gathered on the horizon,
thundering like drums,
winds strong like poison
greed as fast as guns.
They say the smoke still lingers
in all the old, pervasive places,
and that the forest still has fingers
in all the empty spaces.

Who said that love was fire?
I know that love is ash.
It is the thing which remains
When the fire is spent,
The holy essence of experience.