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She
She rattles her cage
deep inside
where I hid her
so you could not touch her

This outer part,
this shell, this facade
is all you have
but not the real me

She is mine
and I am hers
the door is shut but I forgot
to turn the lock

Only a matter of time
before she busts out
to tear your world apart
and burn it down
to do the right thing for
the wrong reason or

to do the wrong thing for
the right one
I'm told I should want
to be a saint but I don't
because I'm wicked

Why paint the town white
when red is much more like it
the color of sin

What makes it a sin?
because you don't understand?
or it leaves a stain?

Just a brush of red
tells you just how I like it
and where I want it

Splash it here and there
color me bad and tell me
I'm going to hell

Among coal and fire
surrounded by souls like mine
I'm in good company

What could be better
than floating on clouds of white?
Dancing in red fire

So no - I don't want
to be a saint because I
love being wicked

Red suits me better anyway
Pick up your Markings
discover that reading you
is meeting me

A heart cleaved open
by thoughts never spoken yet
I know them as mine

How can this be when
penned and inked long before I
was even an I

Here they are, speaking
words never written yet known
as carved on my heart

These words resonate
pulsing out, low and long as
water on the shore

Washing over Time
one voice drawn from two strings
as Rilke had said

As is you and I
with one voice burning with words
that transcend all time

Thanks for the giving
back of my words which I spoke
long before I was

And for your markings
guiding me along the path
to the Meeting Place

Where you and I are
one voice drawn from two strings
in Eternal Hands
i don't think of tomorrow
tomorrow may not come
only this moment
only this -
playing on your fingertips
honey glow of the sun spills
over your naked form
warming cool sheets
as you sleep -
only this
is mine
when you said I could
trust you i didn't know you meant
until i shouldn't

when you said you'd love me
forever i didn't know you meant
only until Tuesday
there you go again
acting out as on a stage
your endless pantomime
of all the faces you've seen
on others
do you know who you are?
or are you content with being
just a series of impressions
of your impressions
of other people?
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