The wind is beautiful this morning
Awesome and soothing before my body
relaxing like the sights of the water lilies
embalmed with nature's aura
marinaded in the helms of the valley
defiling the sanctuary of my mind
I let this beauty envelope my very being
as I hang on to the very last straw grasping for air
like a desperate baby clutching on to a candy
Holding on to the very notes from unsung pipes
gliding through the very surface of the sun
dancing to the beats of these symphony
this orchestra, peace for my troubled heart
beauty for my broken soul
I let myself swim in the parfum inhaling every essence
as I watch the wonders heal my soul
I beheld the tranquil touch my heart yearned for
as I let peace conquer my anxiety

Saturday nights fill the void
Of weekday frustrations
And work’s condemnations
It ends the longing for something else
Or someone else
Or just someone, really
So all the cool, lonely people
Go to the heartbreak hotel
And dance and drink
And hope to find the thing
That they don’t even know
They are looking for

So we see through the eyes
Of hazy drunk people
Falling in love with the world
And themselves
And everyone else
Everyone who seems interesting enough
People made beautiful
By dancing and drinking
Hoping to find something or someone they lost
In the arms of a stranger

And I don’t mind
That you’re thinking about him
I’m used to being late
To the party anyway
And it has become a second nature
To come second
To substitute long gone ghosts
Marinaded in the melancholy
Of expensive drinks
And music I can’t relate to

But I keep on longing
for the Saturday Night Live experience
Because being lost
In a lost crowd
Has become so familiar
As it replaces
The horror of weekday frustrations
Of work’s condemnations
Of longing for something else
Or someone else
Or just someone

She feeds his starving hands
Closes trembling fingers
Around ripe nectarine *******
The nut hardness of her *******
Make stigmata wounds
That never heal.

She fills his famished mouth
With her lips and tongue
Living Hors d’oeuvres
Marinaded in blood and saliva
Then drives him head first
To graze in the garden south of her navel.

He eats of her fruit
Drinks from her stream
Till he is satiated and spent
His cheeks and chin
A colour field of pulp and nectar
On a canvas of Frankenthaler.


Behind velvet doors
of her private gallery
She mounts him.
He is famished no more.