I will leave this world confident,
even well before death,
if I am convinced you know
how much I love you,

just as I was convinced
by my Mother's bright smile
through the ravages of her cancer.

The people approach with their codified fears,
the ones written for the protection of securities
that flinch and flee in the face of loving and dying,

and they successfully convince me to not dare
have that thought beyond the thought, and not move
my limbs through postures choreographed by passions

stoked far beyond our minds, and not approach you
with a daring beyond my timid heart to give you
a reckless slap on the shoulder and pinch on the thigh.

Don't do these things, for beyond is only the sparks
dancing above the fire, burning out quickly on the wind,
and that's no fortune you can retain to prop up your children
wading among the fear of the people.

The scent of orchid is so confident tonight.
Swathed in it, we nearly collapse.
The half moon tries to reassure us.
It tips our love onto its brighter side.

Pleasure comes in rude little waves
and steals composure off our shy faces.
Cresting at the *******
your brown ******* slip from yourself
and into my mouth.
The insights hit like bolts,
but fade like the tide.

Do revelations have patience,
because already I have forgotten
the reciting of our scripture.
Even if you and I collect
a million rain drops tonight,
we still won't have the rain.

Still, let's do nothing different
except let out shadows
walk away together
and let the moisture
clean our flesh without hesitation.
Then we'll let it burn.
        Let the tall grasses burn,
        and our wet desires burn,
        and our bodies burn,
        and all our prayers burn.

I am begging for mercy.
There is no voice
for this body lost.
I abandoned beautiful things
before they could abandon me.
Now, full of poison,
I look upon our youngest relics,
and how their naïve sway
dictates the commerce of the streets,
and I weep, unsure if they or I am lost.

I am begging for mercy.
By your grace, I rediscover
the nails hammered
into my jaw and forehead.
Perhaps you never extracted them
despite my years of folly.
I know you are near.
Like a good lover, you counsel
more sincere than any Wise Man.

         Do not be intimidated by beauty.
         There are no kingdoms,
         no pleasures-  only time.
         "Reality is the coincidence
         of *** and death."
         Embrace our anonymous love
         and release the healing passions
         more ****** than a begging bowl.

In a crowd of
common men and women
the most valuable are
the young and the lovely.

Research the consequences
of a coy look
by painting your body
and flicking your tongue.

I am very shy, but
bold are the curves
of my body, which
allure and ruin.

I pay a fair price
for what is bartered...
...the rest I steal using
tricks of seduction and devotion.

We cover our bodies
in secret signs, because
we don’t want to be righteous,
but we do want to be redeemed.

The worship of youth decays,
and leaves only questions about
what wild and wise things
are worth accomplishing before death.

A fluid like spit
touched my body
and put me in a good mood
for the rest of my life.

The edge of my tongue
is lined with many stupid thoughts,
but also the dumb courage
to lick the tip of your triangle
until you are happy.

I have been instructed -
Heal **** before trance.
Heal skinless during trance,
and after trance,
don't heal at all.

Again, my tongue is
a fat slug that doesn't
get much done, except
when it ***** and *****.

A voice says "no"
everywhere inside me.
Meanwhile, the rain
makes me wet.

Spring's breeze feels
about the open window,
and my shy body
opens wide its eyes.

The perfumes of magnolia and
the crescent moon hanging
onto the end of the street
save my life.

There is nothing between us
but a sheet of pleasure, thin,
the way lighting strikes anywhere.

Indeed, momentary trust
is the wisest thing,
even in this dangerous world.