His :

i make my travel
reseeding you
                my dear heart
                      into a compact unit of storage

i relieve from our nesting comfort
dismiss our established downey base of cooperation
                                   cleave from our snared compromise

instead to bed and thieve an unshared atmosphere
guilty joy followed by joyful normality
no stale thing

unravelling light
  lifted
(secure
  that I've a capsule world
  when i turn
  toward our lap again)

goodbye of you i am mended
made completely free
                    on the first turn of a corner


& Hers :

you leave me
      on your travels (you-were-my-travels)
you leave me susceptible
my heart alters to become
       a weak permeable tissue of easy tamper
       membership structure is dissolved
         returned to the vital spill
           welcome fluent contamination
               villainess and godless vibration
                  of the goddess confession

dress hooked up past my waist
i'll power-**** away my morality on day one
each day following shall be made easy
  ushered along in brutalities slip steam
                        and the prom of eddies

back in time i've been working on something..
       i'll call it The ****** List
criminal joys and tasks of double self daring
committed
     (not folded over
       or veloped in the knicker drawer)
           it operates as a basking lurk
                               tucked discreetly
                                 correct behind the eye
                      a charm feature of the unconscious
when released
   it's something melkish and larking with energy
   tacking harm to my activated mischief
      kinetic value and uncontrollable spur

in your absence
     i am permissionless
abyssless
i account for nothing

nooks of the apartment
the memory of us quickly forms a ***** coral
i've stopped washing to suit this mode
my body, a journal of stains and earned bruises
i holla and bay at mementoes of our brace
and then stop at the near point of the neighbours tolerance

time has crushed in on its own thesis
become gummy and tenseless
skipping about in haphazard spasms
  backstep, bow and reversal
     now
          observably organic in motion
           and proud of its many personalities

Oh, You're Back Again !
    no, it is your ghost
is it a spy ? ... i doubt you knew you even had it
it threads in and out of my company
seeming baffled and far from its comfort zone
did i put you there ?
i don't call you
the physical you
because you said 'no phones'
              and 'only in emergencies' (is-this-urgent ?)
Is This Urgent ?!
i restrict where i live in here
     keep the windows widowed and veiled
it makes for an unreal canvas
i'm weeding for a correction
sensual precarious highs
violate
in a spate
with this time alone
i'll make our home a vile space
a defication
and i can make no sense assessment of it any
i fight against digestion within these premises
i stay still long enough i am softened and palped
            by a dense atmosphere and salivations of contact
and outside..

the streets are exhausted
and i've quite the nasty reputation
violence, baiting and thievery
inebriation and toxic language
i shall soon be policed
no doubt i've lost my job
for now our place is a dare for vandals
             when i am an insensible heap
                 and perspiring over you in delirium
                    they devalue the exterior

unearthing
i'll find my creative sprite
that is good
i had missed it
now this is urgent (this-is-mine-was-always)
i take up a notebook and puke it full
i take sticks in my mitt and scrawl my charcoal visions
the blood visions
   the primal mud
  on all our walls

can i piece back our home by your return ?
can I sufficiently correct the blurring history I've smutted ?
do i care to ?
no more fading into 'partner'
lease is up
you'll not find me here destroyed
or waiting
    naked but an apron with my hands cupped and mouth open
i'll have ravelled myself up tight
- having stoked my inhuman malady -
     i'll mate my own travels

                                                        ­             - aborted

Never the woman,
always the other woman.
She-poets have sung of it since
they first gave words
to the wet knot of their hearts.

The consolation prize, the late-comer
who must be the one to wash his
***** hands. Not a goddess but
the amazon who presses on his
body’s weakest points. The villainess.

The other woman has no power.
He doesn’t need to know her name,
her fears, which books made her cry as
a girl. He already has his golden idol,
but he wants a clay vessel on the side.

He doles her out careful smiles under
pinkblue bar-lights or in smoky kitchens.
He tells her yes you’re beautiful
but I’ve got a better one at home still
can I see the shape you make in my bed?

And she is hopeful and lost
but finds his arm and lets herself be led.
Never the woman, but a girl who
plays games in the mud, dirties her dress,
blacks out her face, her soiled lips.

And women speak of the other woman
like she is a crow above their doors.
Watching them make their love
through greedy eyes while
nursing her barbed and tangled heart.

She's a would-be
Disney villainess
a temptress

She's a would-be
empress
a mogul-ess

She's a fear
and she's a longing
distant and yet, oh-so-near

She's a myth
and she's a nightmare
so subtle, yet full of pith

And so unreal
yet in reality, so sad
all because, she's ******* mad

Mad like the full moon
mad enough to tear her hair
don't you stare

Trope upon trope
we lay upon the forbidden woman
the discarded woman without hope

If only we had the eye of compassion
instead of berating her for her passion
we'd heal our lost mothers and daughters at last

Why be weary in the perfection of your blade
When the flaws in your step are much fiercer?
What is the point of your bruises and cuts
When you still lack the distance to pierce her?
Just how many more of her blows can you take?
When will you stop holding back?
Loosen your grip, and sunder your stance,
Don’t your opponent their slack.
Though, she is not the enemy.

Stargazer fish, of tactile scope,
a firm apparatus of sullen sail taking on watercrest
and nests in song,
in rivaling storyboards hoping children read along
of the pirate’s appendage - the moonlight, the claim rights
and every night cries for a villainess
to war the heart,
bombards and the plunder,
scuttling poetry under foamy humpback water
melted from night sky,
arriving in tides named for our stride

the rain... it traps me, it surrounds me without any chance of escape.

disconnecting me from the world and leaving only my bubble... only me.

where is the world?! where did it go?!

i want it, i NEED the world... and where did they go? all the people that i know... all the friends, the enemies, the heroes, the villainess, the models, the teachers... where did everybody go?!

perhaps... i can enjoy this, yes! perhaps i can!

no rush, no mission... just the meaninglessness of the rain...

and as i drop the umbrella and aimlessly lay on the ground, not thinking, not trying, not worrying...

i like it.

Tragedies and malice
Are not all that’s found
Of sick minds and broken souls
That have no sound
Knights in shining armor have come to ****
Parade on flower eyes, so that I feel ill
I’m not the hero holding the sword
What really is the story
Perhaps I’m a villainess
That’s not even scary
So hang me up to dry
And ring me out
Because I’ll die once veils lift of my happy lie
One tragic ghost walking about