Scarce are the lips unlicked by the fires tongue
Raised by the mothers nature, wild and undone
in the moments your will is pushed, ash tray

Hold to the weeds and strike at the rain
They are the unruly ones whose desire plays with the wind and burns everything within touches reach
But not to subject a detrimental flame upon which they came

No, we are water in an iced age burning to escape the pain.

We have ardent inclination to fetch whats ripped bare from our hearts
Baren, left, we hold nothing but our broken parts in a box
left by the bypass ruined by rain and grass stains, a product of the golden days oxidized and rusty. 
Look at my eyes, from pain

this must be virtue. 

I promise, in sickness and in health i will never hurt you

Love is like a squid
really odd and weird
all this time it hid
then suddenly appeared

Making you fall deep
down to the oceans floor
taking a giant leap
where you've not been before

and suddenly it's gone
sometimes in a blink
but poems like this live on and on
written with it's ink

brought no bell,
or call-to-arms,
no rush of Prussian
blood to head
the ball into an
empty net, no change
in current sea levels...

no harm befell
the coppiced shoots
of brutal resolutions,
proving atheist
relationships are
worth their weight
to any fool...

and
no-one but
the very best,
would deign
to chance a
second guess
of getting into heaven

on this first day
of the year.