You touched my clavicle
and all was electricity
my bones humming
my blood a rush
You said, "Hey, let's glide
through this beauty
in the way only we
know how"
It felt right to me
so I took your hand
and put it where the heart
meets explosions
and we ran into the burning,
ourselves a wildfire,
pouring cups of
that exclusive
homemade magic
and lifting it to each other's lips
arms raised to
the crash of skies

Somewhere between exalted ****
and archangel,
I slide between your cracks
melt down your shadows
heat your bones into
gentle soup
take your froth
and spread it like cream
over my peaks
And you, just looking at me
with that adoring gaze
You teach me
what love is

don't gain weight, they say
do you want to look like a pig?
but it's ugly if you're too skinny,
no ***** and no ***, what are you so proud of?

society's standards, everchanging and everflowing
from the desireableness of being just bone and skin to having ******* and an ***
our society that can't decide what it wants
our society that thinks it can control what is perfect

perhaps i shouldn't conform to society's standards after all

THE EARLY DAYS OF FORGETTING

He looked like he had lived
forever in Tír na nÓg.

Didn't show his age
'til he was seventy.

"Ah, Hades looms!"
he joked.

Unlike Jack Sprat
he didn't eat a lot.

His wife contrary to belief
did that.

What a turn up for
the nursery rhyme.

The past always so
far yet near.

The sweetness of
the sour.

This the early days of
forgetting.

Wearing a purple sock
on his left foot.

A glamorous yellow
on the right.

Forgetting now his own
name.

Forgetting who came.

"And, who...are you?"
he asks his wife.

I am this monster
This monster of rhyme
I hide in the shadows touched by no-one but time
From the deep we have risen and still we do climb
Myself and my conscious this monster of mine