Hamburger aroma of weed smoke arising, latching onto hipster attire, Engineer’s banter louder than boom bap mutations, mute DJ slaying the Latin, cap on forward, sideways glancer catching a vibe, luscious lady, copper smooth, eyes find mine in hers, stepping out my mind to mingle with hers, just a sec or two, not a game, mature as you and I tonight, wrinkled and frank, digesting the jest, next questions begat more doubts than assurances, grown folks are childhood inventions, nurtured natures and fallen angels run the roost, while tall babies wag tails with tales, I’m talking and listening, I’m watching and fiddling with your thoughts and my attention spans the expanse of your face, the crevices, the creaky foot path across your mind and mine, gapping the bridge when I’d rather be inside of you, twister sister, mind over mister, feline recline, I’ve got you forged onto me.
Is it the sky that colours the thought that my eyes speak when you look into me? I didn’t try to hide your questions in there. We just got stuck on the tangled high wire of hearts we dared to cross on foot. No fear. Just fools. Just us.
I wore your favourite smile today. It only cost me a tear before the train arrived to put me back on track. Love races the many miles of memories behind a kiss. I had hoped to return it to her sacred place. Sometimes we hold on too long and awake to find that the dream does not always follow us into the morning. And yet the Sky remains as young and dear to me as that devil in green. Or was it blue? And I as old as the grey bearded child I always was.
Calella leaning, tilting for tips, toes standing up for the streets, with bended hearts so hip to hope. Don’t stain the carpet when you cushion the fall. Don’t rumble young man, and don’t call the law. Don’t scratch the considerate air that carried your balls higher than the crawling Spiders you fear, and the Tuesday flings that booted you out on the curb of slithering desires, bouncing your love into a glass of shampain. Who’d be a patriot for all the basket cases and fresh faced beauties bolted to sleep in their bubbles of pantomime glee. I got you.
Ruffled and relaxed mind surfing on stress, caught a wave before his shirt was pressed, pumped iron the night before last, caught eyes before we digressed into nostalgia, a storied face found burried in her chest, smiles couldn’t hide it, the calm before the raging storm, he didn’t have to force it, the rough behind the painted veil.
Somewhere pouring out his heart like rain on the parched land of sorrows. The sky is crying for you and your majesty waves the flag that words unfurl for dew. I soaked in the crisis and breathed us out into the mystic. I took the bridge less burned and crossed the heart like fingers that didn’t lock out of luck, and hoped to live once your majesty, death, is served. Now where’s the rest of him. Don’t wear that dress for her. Now all the news is old, like all your thoughts as grey as days that wait to terrorise holy hooded babes of the the wood that lash at life. Pray you turn the knife that struck you deep in the fear that spins your dred head back on track, your majesty awaits.
Spring departs like the kisses that dressed you down to play grown up games with fisted fears. The visceral image collapses as your heart attacks the mirage we were. I had to write this twice. Say something sweet and spit on it. Then put a foot on it and twist. Fast and hard. That’s how words work. Quick as the sinking sanded song we wobble on in chordination. I had to tie my hands behind my back so that it wouldn’t cheat the eyes that nourished our hopes. Living the lie was almost too good to be true. Work the hips, grind the wrist into action, wreck the moment, burst the balloon, and pop the lock of your bubble headed majesty. Oh we play hard ball with twisted tongues, daring the heart to watch the flight of our shooting Star as it explodes inside our cocoon. I almost caught her watching me lose her to my fantasies. The kink in my armour, comes undone. I almost found me watching her lose us in her astonishment that I could love all the things that made her loathsome in her own eyes. I only loved her soul because I couldn’t afford the possibility of everything wrapped around it. So I lusted after her flesh to make a man out of me. I bit into the fruit of her neck, carefully so as not to tear open her sacred honey coloured skin which illuminated the Temple of her Spirit, to mark her as mine. And I watched her marvel at the pleasure it induced which became ointment for the pain. She dared me into the whirlwind of wreckless abandoned and I surrendered to my nature’s intent. I watched her watch herself knowing it couldn’t last the storm to come. Those secrets between the high fiveing thighs were not the children we had hoped for, but they were ours to burn on the altar of love, for better or worse.
Niap is a leftie loving bruised cheek. Sober side right will make a grown man cry for mercy. Niap is a disfigured sum of money. Run from the left only to be slighted by oppositional cool. Both sides know drama but Niap swells like old love that filled the belly. You like new love that promises you its promiscuous Moon made high and all the honey you can eat for a day. Niap won’t ever leave you. Everlasting Niap, the darling of foreknowledge, flogs the joy out of pleasure principles, you’ll have to chew on the right side of your heart in the knighted morning. Save some freedom for me.
I haven’t noticed these flowers before. Although I have known Yellow in the black on black of Black on Black.
The neon siren attracts the gaze of my ears, but I am the still life that is drawn even as I am drawing. Always drawing. My eyes are the lens that persecutes in silence. How loud it persecutes. I am drawn to the mellow Yellow. It is as if the Stars fell to Earth but could not shake off their Heavenly glory. And yet we are never glorious in our own eyes. If our shadows could speak they would surely tell the truth of us when we do not see ourselves. The nude glory. Not the vanity of our perception. Illiterate yet full blown with language. How merciful beauty can be even as our nature rages against us. Black on Yellow. Yellow on Black. Always drawing. Always drawn.