There's a bone in my road
It's old
As the holes it moulds
One in my mother's body
One in her childrens' soul
Affecting her; affecting me
But none affect the soul paroled
Who made the whole of the holes
That have shown bone in my road

There's a pained stain on the wall
Wine mainly, but blood plainly
A tribute to all
The shame gained from falls
Through grace and space
To a place
Where stains frame the inside walls
And the race for safe affects all
Barring the unscarred soul
Whose wine stained fingers sprawl
Maul

I shall never see my own bone
In the road
Or my blood pooled
Beneath my walls

Distance from resistance
Missed shifts in risk persistent
When I'm remiss in the kisses of listed insistence
Your confidence wishes assistance
in the blissful existence
of
Any preexisting feelings
amiss of desistance
You lock you load the slock to hold
Secure and compound the slur to hound
The insecure, the bound
The insincere and the frowned
Until
Your blow quells the next risk
Swollen from a deft fist
Stolen by a neck twist
Beholden to your inner drift at the mirrored wrists
Of the monster betwixt this fixed rift of our mix
The signs won't unwind in your mind
They can't hide what's behind a sombre face unlined and undefined by your take on this time
Let's realign it
Let's redesign it
Let the lock smash with a rash motion borne of flashed emotion
Torn from some shared idyllic notion
Of a presupposition for mutual commotion
Or even of a genuine devotion
Give me the whole of the role of shrouding your soul
Or the hole for which it was sold
I will mould the folds and hold back the cold
With my own old extolled blindfold
Good enough?
Should be tough
No rebuff
Could be
Maybe
- love?

Some stunted departing words
Conventional yet presented
Like a granite tile
Close at my feet

You sneer somewhere in the realms of smiling
Before you step the stairs
Moments pass

A dash of rain spurts across the glass
Complicated window
I know now
That you curse
Somewhere in the realms of whining

In utter solidarity
Juvenality buried amongst nostalgia accosts me
I stare
Somewhere in the realms of admiring

My window is drying
We are also dispersed
Somewhere in the realms of tiring

The old white lines
Remain the right signs
Of a flightier, mightier time
Where designs of the mind
Unwind a crime of this kind
To merely white lines
On tight thighs
And not red and bright finds
Atop contempt or ***** lies

The mirror is silent
The room startled
In an altered state
Everything familiar
dissimilar
Would I hear more if
This one was mine?
If in this mirror this one is reversed
And I am stunned
Is the me beneath this face
Before the glass
As shocking in the familiar
As it is empty before me now?

Keep your little light on
He flees a fickle Titan
Of heat
and might
and deep creeping fights on
Heaped upon rights and
Steeped too long wrongs

With half breaths
and a fast head
He shall come doubting, red
And, in mounting your bed
He needs to see your light on
To keep the feeling of right from
Speaking to those bygones
That thieve a man's head's spread
Until it's devoid
Of a position, avoiding
Decision
on pointing
Wrong from right
To stop
To not, become sights of
Long nights of
Young despite
Or grave delight

And you warrant respite
And more deft addresses
Than torrents of best guesses
from some boring, left messes

Mouth pressed on my mouth
Blood falls on snow

Words that buzz through skin
Stir my face

Surface finally engulfs mast
Restored now; it looks the same  

First absence of lips
New, chilled air
against pulsing ventricle

A piano whose keys are dusty
Now finger marked

My constituents begin to cluster
With yours
In humid gaps that cleave faces
Back into lines
I can keep what I can grasp

Two glinting shoals have quietly met
In some peaceable black depth
From which air has withdrawn
Press my mouth to that mouth
Blood against fresh snow