cut open my stomach,
and gut me

dissect the tumour,
that you left in me

do i still look like the girl you used to know?

with my intestines on display,
and a smile on my face

remember what you did to me

Here
she had been
put to music,
candles lit to memory,
the room now empty
lifeless quarters,
dull, ghost-less periphery


Some greater part
of learning wondered,
if each unites
or all unties,

what riches but old rags
were plundered,
if nothing lived

before her eyes

the first time we make love



your body will tremble, from behind, my arms’ will, to encase,
I, sponging up every tremor, shush-stealing each shuddering,
the outpouring of sounds will grow softly and steadying,
as gasps slow lessened, till the breathing is regularized.

you will sly ask for words, but I will come prepared and you,
will laugh when so informed, happy by my thoughtfulness,
wondering if they are being reused, and knowing this, I will
coax you to feed me morsels will I shall then embellish, proofs.

there is a first time in almost every aspect, but for one, which
you won’t refuse, forgiving my experiences, a history to become
now partly yours, the priors paying forward my debt to serve,
a gentling interplay of eyelashes *******, fingertip confessions.

you will alternate tween fragility, regretful solitude, emptied but
then refilled, you’ll want to define, identify, label for storage and
reuse, classification for acceptance, thinking that will make this
moment lasting, but it won’t, but it will, last, under closed eyes.

when the need to sob returns, one or two may escape, unelicited,
but won’t go past that, you’ll hear me saying “Hello in there, hello,”^
and ten thousand skin cells will in unison firm gel a single sensory,
not a trick or strategy, an honor bestowed, medaled, molten medaled.

that you were held captive, it will be a proud mark, for freedom only
comes from being released, and an anthem will start to form, words
all raw and wholly yours, then you will sing to me “good bye stranger,”^^ granting me a pardon, for being who I am, a wonderingly, somewhat familiar face...

Things go beyond your
vision. I transcend gods,
punished by crowds.

Writing history.
I want to disagree
with the story of
headless accession.

The valley has
bloomed indigo. Red
stars in grey sky
start wailing.

When earth moves
in dark. Sun brightens
the saddened face
of kismet.

Soft flesh flowers easily
tomato-red and over-ripe
to spill, in runnels,
a warm mirage.
Delusions
never reach
parched lips, but
taunt and I love
the torture enough
to lick up
the dust of this
wasteland.
At the gates of Eden,
I thirst,
a sinner barred
from forbidden fruit.