1472

To see the Summer Sky
Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie—
True Poems flee—

I want to fall into your gravitational field,
Feel you grab me until
I sink into your essence
And our flesh becomes one

do not let
the whiskey sour
face of death
embrace you
in a
throne of
ash pink
roses

There are some nights when
the music is a little
sweeter than the wine

You rip me apart
like the ladders in my
stockings
which I try to climb but
never take me
anywhere
other than closer to
you

My mind is
restless
at some number of minutes
past midnight and
I am high
on poetry:
an unnamed
addiction
- drugs -
I wish I had
some of those right now
(not that I'd
know what to do
with them).
I want to be
where the wind speaks
and everything
is directed
at the
moon.
I am an
animal
and I crave
wild nights and
the thrill
of desire
or I will have no choice
but to

howl.