Knock... knock...

And I open the door.

What are all these masks for?

The night is fought
by candles and lanterns
carved from vegetables
in my front porch.
Loafs of pumpkin and spice
must reach the roads end,
the perfect bait!

A spider on a web over a face,
pale olive completion with hollow screws,
a surgeon holding a plastic saw and a brace
where dripping blood was reproduced.
All huge eyes and brightened teeth,
hands extended in gluttonous cheers
begging for candy and all sorts of treats.

A cold gulf of air freed through the frame
on queue I unfold my dark heavy cape
unleashing a flash bellow a bony square chin
curated with rice powder and gin.

With blood thirst in my ruby stare
petting my hissing black cat
with the lowest voice I can set
I tower over them and declare:

"Your costumes were bought!
You cannot contain your glee!
Take some paste for your tooth
that is all that it is worth here."

Before they could **** in their pants
I turn the door shut and echoed two laughs.
Well done Simba! Let's turn off the fans
check their picture and wait for their parents.

And so the girl child sat
knitting melodies beside
the great river of words.
Soon her songs were heard,
beyond the Lake of Lyrics
and the vast Sea of Verse.

The evening tide carried them
across oceans to foreign shores.
Field workers sang her songs
to children in their hovels.
They escaped the lips of scholars
in the great halls of learning.

The child became a woman,
and still she weaved the magic,
from the words of the river,
for the hearts of all who read them.
As she weaved she told the secret
to a child who knitted beside her.

Emerging from the womb of time
I heard her whisper to my heart.
I felt the great river in my being,
and I began to knit a melody.
I heard my soul sing with joy,
I am the child of an ancient poet.

© 30/12/2009

Our bodies were carved
from the same ginger clay,
my dents match your protrusions
my lips yours, your fingers mine.

On a starless night
coupling to our desire
the watching moon
cursed our frail figures.

My eyes witnessed
you tossed, curled up
the ripping of your back's marble
and the snow feathers that erupted

Your olive orbs focused
on my glittering legs,
see I was revolving too
in the transforming pains.

See, we were build to fit
even more to complete,
I was sculpted to fall in
the deepest of your chest.

But life grew me gills
and you hollow bones
so I am letting you fly,
refined argil of mine.

We glimpse during twilight
that we used to hold tight.
Oh, just as I was set to fall in.

The shell hangs on a golden string
asymmetric lines curved together
in the valley that roots my neck
a picture inside I keep on holding.

Cheap cloths on a public beach,
the young us playing catch,
a moment in colors of chess,
caught by a since lost lens.

It holds all those stormy nights
I came to sleep by your side,
all the "how was your day"s
of the greening of the leafs.

The cold of the suns that set
shed of that and other salt
and dried, pressured into pulp
holds the bones in a pole.

Me, a flag to the wind of time
tight to it gaze the reviewer,
it is that shell of once upon
my compass to where I've been.

But the tide keeps at my ankles
resigned to rob under my feet
the desert that there stood
steady as the clock's beat.

The day will come it will win
when of this shell I lose grip
and holding on to a gem
won't brace me for the slip.

Because it is your history
the concrete ground
the future is built upon.

Hidden inside a cocoon,
color wouldn't breach in
all I saw were the shades
the world made on the walls.

Curious you shook the whole,
as a child would Christmas morn,
a muffled dead echo was all,
but got you to kiss my skin.

Your pointy curved thorn
rubbed my projection screen
and freed me from the gloom
tore the fabric off scene.

My wings liberated to spread
made your eyes bloom.
I cannot understand why
but I filled your blue sky.

All the while your kiss,
it still brings me to tears
as it is ever more dense
with the wet grass scent...
the fountain water splash,
the sparrow flappin' sound,
the moist of the breeze
from this roses ground.

You bloom in me ever more
more than I thought would fit,
and which is strangest of all
started with a kiss from a rose.

Oh, treacherous pull of endless floor
under our light inconsequential trample,
in equal measure, the feather is won
cursed by thee, to its inevitable fall.

Thy naked invisible attraction
sways the seas in moonlight dates,
holds north and south feet kissin',
and has us visiting the sun from west!

Force that collects from all distance
a grip the scale takes the measure,
I miss ye largely drifting in space.

Ye are a tango between bodies,
from a bang that predates time,
sculpting atomic dust into planets.