i wonder if the curtains talk about what we do behind their backs..
i wonder if the pillow covers complain about the  tear stains we leave on them..
i wonder if the bed feels the emptiness like i do..
i wonder if our closets are strong enough to hold our skeletons..
i wonder if the door creaks our darkest secrets out..
or do the paintings gossip about our fights..
is the dust which remains.. is all thats left of us..
is our bedroom the aftermath of what we once were...

You are a beauty that echoes in my eyes
Sparks dance along your corners and curves
Your smile pulls at the edge of my mouth every time
I’d like your shirt crumpled on my bedroom floor.
Because when it comes down to it darling
I need your fingers to make love with mine
Kiss me like the air from my lungs is ambrosia
Hold me like we could meld desire in our sighs
You are in the curl of my toes and the arch of my back
My half lidded eyes and weakened knees
The gentle spark in the nerves down my spine
The flush down my chest and the flare in my cheeks
Your molecules form constellations behind my eyes
Your imperfections fit my missing parts like peace
I will murmur you so wickedly high
Because you’re beautiful when loving me.

I open windows every day,
to let the wind air out my room.
Blowing out all the memories,
clearing out the lonely gloom.

The smell of flowers covers
what lingers of your cologne.
And in the fall the smell of leaves
masks that I am here alone.

The sounds of outside drown out
your voice echoing in my head.
Trees rustling and birds singing
ring in my ears instead.

The breeze feels so familiar,
slightly cool across my cheek.
It replaces the touch of your hand,
saying things without having to speak.

But I wake in the dark of the night,
shivering from the cold.
The wind has crawled in my bed,
and you're not here to hold.

I push down on the window,
but it's stuck, and so am I.
My sheets are frigid and foreign,
I can't sleep but I still try.

The sounds are now haunting,
crickets and howling at the moon.
I touch your side of the bed,
and pray I fall asleep soon.

There’s a gun upon my bed
Not the kind made of metal
A vivid tattoo color
Above my lover’s
Secret devil

And that gun is like a demon
Aimed toward her pleasure zone
Urging hunters to take a shot
And take the trophy
Home

I see blood upon the doorstep
I smell ****** in her fold
I  fear ghosts will haunt her body
In the bullets I have sown

I hear hungry infants crying
The ones she gave away
And the ******* she is hiding
Are my regrets from yesterday

I feel the gun blazing
As she ***** my breath away
I’m a hostage to her body
In the mayhem
She  purveys

In the middle of the night
I’ll make my escape
Run, run, run
Run away

I’ve got to run

In the middle of the night
When her back is turned
Run, run, run
Run away

I’ve got to run

There’s a gun upon my bed
It belongs to my baby
Burned deep inside her
On a night she went
Crazy

And every time I think
I’ll flee
Her dangerous painted gun
She draws it against me
And I feel myself succumb

I see blood upon the doorstep
I smell ****** in her fold
I  fear  ghosts will haunt her body
In the bullets I have sown

I hear hungry infants crying
The ones she gave away
And the ******* she is hiding
Are my regrets from yesterday

Save me from her gun
She’ll never let me go
Save me from drowning
In her young and wanton soul

I’ve got to run
But there’s a gun

My baby won’t let me go.

1909, on top of the dragon.
Marigolds whipping a tepid fug in this small room of stringy daylight.
That place where we fell in love. Where I dropped a hot cup of tea on my pants
And we ate sushi on the beach. I love the beach.

I am not ready for the ice festival or your new boyfriend.
He smells like bad disco and old people.
This piano concerto that I play before bed, before awakening,
I have your black dresser drawer in my bedroom,
It glistens of our days of Jasmine and Roses.

My mind blurs stories of you, her, and the other girl.
Rad violin songs, a friend from Argentina has introduced me to
Mystify me, I cannot hear straight or stand still. I have acquired
A gift for shivering. Still I can feel your talons raking up my spine.
*******! Where? Why? How did you do that thing with your mouth?

I count upwards from you and in my peaking hours of misfortune, I
Never come back down to earth's giant centrality of duel existence.
My gut expands into my chest, my nervous system and anxiety is
All of you, a lot of her, and none of the other girl.
I make half inch black markings on the wall, this curse of feeling and not forgetting
That never goes away.

I tried to be cordial with inactivity
washing it with weeping juice like a pardoned effigy
but the diamonds of determination were so wrapped in mind debris
that I threw away a fortune in potential

The smiles of the platitudes are louder than their laughs
An appeasing of their attitudes I warrant with the gaffes
of an undertaker's underling bestowing upon epitaphs
another deadened and deprived credential

Seeing days in ways that never did occur to me
Every end a mending by default, a sour recipe
for compromise eroding in a rusty *** of empathy

The dentist rubbed his fingers when he saw my gritted teeth
No sermon on the mount from me, more a mumble on the heath
My incisor is a tack that would support a giant's wreath
Thorns of novocaine will numb my Christmas wish

For the sake of universal order I will freeze a yawn
Mostly harmless said a hitchhiker of Earth so I can spawn
a batch of clones to live on hold where all the battle lines are drawn
I'll zip up and in the universal order I'll languish

Seeing nights in ways that never did occur to me
Every satellite a telecast of fault, a sour recipe
for sleeping juice to boil over in Big Dipper's empathy

Where's a pound of flesh when needed? I've grown tired of these ribs
On the grill of soggy marrow, hungry haunts will have first dibs
Call on William Blake to send the weepers to their cribs
Wishful thinking I'll preserve beneath the floorboards

With a hand in nothing new and an incisor in the usual
intestine chains surround my motivation's hot pursual
Don't read too much into my implied acceptance of a dual
with a messenger of fact's implicit hoards

Seeing days in ways that never did occur to me
Every end a mending by default, a sour recipe
for compromise eroding in an empty *** of sympathy

Sound the bugle for my bed is made, I'm rested for detention
Solitaire I'll play in my confinement for the crime of sought attention
I revolted the philosophers in plugging my intention
I would not concede that lab rats had it worse

The satellites are full and bright, the shadows walk on lakes tonight
I'll dream of sleep but eyes will play me in my bedroom's voided sight
Lay with me and sigh and the elastic laws of nature might
halt the quivering continuum of fate's forsaken course

Seeing nights in ways that never did occur to me
Every channel plays the same old cooking show's ensoured recipe
Compromise a minor seasoning in liver-flavoured empathy

04 15 14

she's by herself, again.
in isolating darkness
of her snickering and smiling,
at a bright blue screen.
and of that is what most of her nights consists.