Grown

There I was, sitting in the not knowingness. Not a word of corner comfort. Slow burning away in deep space with a mystery. Unsolved. The reward for my unwilful ignorance was six stringed. The fairer the sex, down stroked, the bar chord is tinged with melancholy. This blackberry was sweet but so was I. All of my honey for burnt toast. The sex of it, long behind the love that held on to an idea we dreamed up. But I was blind of heart and nature is in the killing business of kindness. Venus kind, closing out after clamping up, let’s raise a toast for my burns, I’m growing out of my eyes and years.

Filth

Wash me with your eyes my love, once more, before you take me to bed, that I may sleep beside your returning curiousity that turned me out.

I am unclean from feet to follicle, yet the unfed Raven nests on my crown of crumbs but she does not eat off me like the hands I once held inside my womb shaped heart when you hungered for my touch. Nurtured us in longing with the wettest kiss mistaken for hope.

My locks have been divided by fangled thieves of circumstance who add up my time and subtract me from you. The temple has been desecrated since I allowed you to enter me, with the gentle force of your indifference. And I have only you to wear though worn out by the distance between us.

Then become me, so that I am forever yours.

King Of The Crackle

He who wears the paper crown is king of the crackle. Unproven.

Brandy eyes see undressed lies in bed with contrived laughter. Soberly and dripping wet.

Reconfigured finger pops the luck. Guns drawn before Dawn has broken, down baby, damned lady, seated upside out, beltless, love bulging, bursting, with tenderness, lust and found in distinguished denial.

Choice?

The one you use when you say everything in the noise of silence.

Crackled grief and textured tears, too salty for truth, takes you hard and easy when you cry below the waist…ed words of indifference.

Yours.

The one I use when I am merely your reflection without my beating heart.