morning arrives
songbird serenades to open sky
while i find my heaven
within a cup thats stained
likened unto a mocha chino sunrise
outside my window  a
fragrant dew soaked crimson
petaled rose
holds no interest
all my concentration rests within
the slow dark descent of liquid gold
as my forefinger makes slow circular motions
tracing the painted daisies upon my cup
my nostrils flair
as the delectable scent of vanilla cream
extrudes from the ***
its ready
i can almost hear it say
are you comming

Carafes of blood red wine decorate the table
The crowed softly mingle
Candle light delicately flickers
As you pass, you brush your hand along my thigh to lower back
A brief moment of eye contact
A mischievous smile
A bottom lip bite
Excitement extrudes
I’ve lost track of the people talking at me
I make my excuses
I follow
Into a dimly lit room
The heavy door shuts
Just us
A place where fireworks fly

DUST TO DUST

…settling.
The miasma pools,
notes the molten eyes,
the razor breath,
tenses.

Tapering,
a limb extrudes,
advances wispily, tentatively,
gropes recoiling flesh
tenderly.

Trembling, the plume gathers, rears—

Gasping.
The air like gravel,
fingers gloved in ice.
Knowing,
the old man feels his shadow tugged,
turns.

The lash rips across his cheek,
plunges,
finds the stumbling, lunatic heart,
squeezes.
Flaring, the probe bristles, dives,
severing nerve, shattering bone,
******* furiously at marrow—
whipping the flimsy carcass about,
dashing its brittle skull on stone.
Gutting it. Gnawing it. Pounding and
flaying and
grinding
it
down.

To gristle, to gore,
to compost, to clay—
onus, elan, are purged by the wind.

The vessel dissolves:
to garbage, to grit,
to whisper.
To wit:
to sludge, to seepage,
to sewage, to ****.
Lost in the soil
…settling.

A trunk's rigid leather embraces my horizon
and sweeps my eyes beyond. It's bark
filled with valleys of opaque sap
beckoning a caress, to be one, trapped
in a timeless world. Above extrudes solitary
branches of shimmering leaves, still, lifeless.

Grass blades crinkle like foil,
buckling under my lumberous legs
and filling the dead air with brief life.
A flower unknown juts between my toes
with a color of animity and spite,
shifting and warping against my flesh.

Behind me is the brevity of self.
Sounds of key presses and strokes
that are replayed and redrawn,
layer on layer until the familiar
was just some sound; some color,
before becoming dust.

My form shifts like leaves of Autumn,
the same, strange, the same.
Fingers become silver twigs, arms
become careening branches, legs
spreading tin grass, mind
oozing memories for the after.