she slips
into his grip
as red blood lips
press together
and locks on mouth
make hands move south
cupping her bottom
pulling tightly his *******
rotating in this slim jim dance
eyes lit the skies like Paris, France
he drinks silky milk from peach jugs
as he plugs the sugar walls
Oh my Gosh! Niagara Falls
her hair a scarf around his face
he's so undone like his shoe lace
hands on clock
rotate

in colorful bloom.
Don't wait till I'm set out
as folding chairs in the little
room. Roses red as the blood

before it was drained. Deep as
the purple in the chapel’s glass windows
stained. Gold as sunflowers rising tall. Sweet
as the orange lilies painted on my bedroom

wall. The magnolia and peony smiling
down on me. Lilac’s dancing  pirouettes in
weeping willow trees. Let me run crazy
in a field of sweet daisies. Rubbing

buttercups between my toes,
in a garden hammock with a canopy of
green leaves for shade. Don't wait for
the day for this old body to fade.

as a pancake,
somersaulting high in the air
an acrobatic made of eggs, milk and flour.
Scared the sleeping, curled up cat,
lying on the kitchen chair.
Falling flat into a frying pan of sizzling butter,
Plumping himself.
bumping against the sides
filling the whole bottom.
Gold as the leaves in autumn.
Shining as the sun,
but none to turn him.
He burned from outside in.

As she cut into him
the gold turned black,
sticking as plague to her teeth.
Charred as ash underneath.
No honey, cream or syrup
could deter it.
And even if it could
she'd not prefer it.

like colored tinsel
on the trees. The metal coils
flapping in the breeze,
to seize the souls of men. Her stiletto

is her fountain pen. The ink
dripping, her blood, a mountain of
meter in lace gloves. The prosaic
ghouls have not cultivated

their tools. Their turgidity has no
mobility. Sits as stone. Two silhouettes
burned down as daddy's smoked
cigarettes. Crummy as mother's

week old scones. Her poetry beats
are milky as a cow's teats. But still
she drums on, praying for her lines
to spawn.

she thought of a cornflower sky
the shimmering Morpho butterfly
her father’s soft cobalt eyes
the warm waters of the Caribbean Sea
a sweet, plump blueberry
or the desert bluebell flower

Then her life turned sour.
And the blue faded into shades
of grey.
Hovered in the air
all day.
Hung like garlic breath.
The thief in the night -
a crib death

like nail polish
in specks,
leaving flecks of red.

Peeling off
like paint on the walls.
Flaking off
in shards of cornflower blue,
as she falls in her bedroom.

Burning out
like a smoked cigar.
She once was champagne
and caviar.

Dripping
like a leaky faucet.
She's drawn the line.
No man can cross it.

Me, Myself & I

at slow and steady speed
walking side by side
no one takes the lead
scaling mountains
one step at a time
fingers laced together
making the arduous climb
in all types of weather

if one of us slipped
the other two cushion the fall
we are all equipped
to handle it all
the three of us
against the world
building up a truss
head held to the sky
Me, Myself & I