my fingers
her bare smooth sides
a blanket spark
electric, electric  

dragon-fire
breath at my neck
luminescent veins,
electric, electric

a predatory
lunge at the lips
throb siren wail
electric, electric

then in your grasp,
gorging tightness of desire
a heady buzz,
*electric, electric

There are some things I have wanted to say.
Stories I've wanted to tell

I wanted to tell you how the moon, on that special lunar occasion,
How it is red not because of the blood moon,
Rather because it is the reflection of a thousand sunsets all on one canvas.

Or I could tell you about that old lady I saw on the street the other day

How the wrinkles on her ***** hands matched that on her torn shirt.
How those wrinkles looked like waving rows of wheat to the bread she'll never eat

I could talk about the sunset!
Oh the sunset!
How the last ray of sun light is like that of the love of an old man who watched his wife of fifty years fall from cancer.
How even though his light is gone, he can still see her image refracted on the horizon, as if one last kiss to the world

I could talk about the young girl down the block,
The one who people call "fake" because she covers her face in foundation,
The same face her boyfriend left bruised and swollen.

I can talk about the girl I saw on my walk today.
The one who flinched every time her father raised his hand,
The one that wasn't holding his beer of course.

I could talk about sunsets.
I could talk about the beauty of the moon.
I could talk about a lot of things.

I could talk about poverty
I could talk about abuse or ****
I could talk about a lot of things

Society dictates that I should talk about the good things
I should talk about the sunset, and the butterflies
Oh! The butterflies!

Society is a lot like a butterfly
Its beautiful,
Free,
Alive

But society has heavy problems

Ones that "can't be talked about"

The weight of these problems will rip the wings from a butterfly.
Leaving it to fall to the Earth

Earth, where it will be forgotten
It will be stamped upon
It will be ignored

Until one day it dies
Until it's suddenly a tragedy,

What a pity

A lacuna
between us,
so I bridged out an arm
across her shoulder,
made slow circles
on her bare arm,

Meanwhile
Noah built his
ship, afloat
despite its
strange design,

One could trust
Russell Crowe on
such earth-saving
matters.

When it got too much,
she plucked my stiff arm,
clasped it with her left,
lay them parallel yet
in unison between
our chairs,

Fingers finding gaps
among her fingers,

A dove flew in,
land ahoy!
it chirped.

i have found what you are like
the rain,

            (Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light
                                  with thinned

newfragile yellows

                      lurch and.press

—in the woods
                      which
                              stutter
                                        and

                                              sing
And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,
                  your kiss

Stars gather
In a sky nocturnal
Observing the deeds of  
We creatures infernal
Might it be…
We’re the ones on display
For the universe to discuss
Perhaps it is the stars
That are watching us