Move

Grin, when the stillness meets you again.
Smile, when the shadows seek to beguile.
Laugh, as lovers tempt you from your path.
Dance the cynics trance; the Devil’s glance.
Crease the corner of your lips,
Thinly focused fiery eyes,
Bathe your kiss in poisonous bliss,
Never mind their cries,
Everyone dies.
Save those who try,
Who refuse to lie still,
To let comfort devour life’s thrills.

Consoling

What if we left, together, tomorrow?
For a sight of unfamiliar faces.
What if we parked our car on a ferry,
And floated through the ghostly border.
What if we’re only trapped in our hearts?
Running from our starving, needy shadows;
What if we kissed them on the brow,
And told them “Don’t be afraid, everything is okay.”
What if we sipped the night through,
Embracing the diffusion of plot and intention.
What if nothing was sure, nothing familiar,
Stretch, breathe deeply, look forward.

Don’t be afraid, everything is okay.

Kill Me Twice

Oh, God, how it aches to rise and awaken,
Cracking each sallow limb, filling each lung,
Pumping the heart not meant to be taken;
Feeling the sting of pins inside my tongue.
I beg, stop your lovely singing outside.
I was content, for now, to sleep forever.
Now, tantalizing justice begs me find,
The source of sultry songs in foul weather.
Is it poison or nectar that glistens
Upon your lips, shining in your dark eyes.
I want your bite, your kiss, your intention.
I want to hear your gasps and steaming sighs;
To ignore the venom numbing my tongue,
To heave and gag, grinning, choking on blood.

Fair Sprout

Must I pretend to be a fool for you;
Blinded to such violent truths in your eyes?
O’ shall I set free thee, starving accused,
To wander down alleys, ensconced by time?

Should we gasp for the air, so sweet, so pure.
Should we swallow our doubts, so few, so rare.
Should we not be awake, to see the cure?
Should we not be free on this day so fair?

The trees are yet to bloom, but yet too soon,
Will the birds sing their prayers of warmth and play.
My soul is yet to wake, beneath this moon,
As clouds belittle thee, my sun, my day.

Promise not to burn my frail eyes, my dear.
Our vows shall not be writ in ink or fear.

Disastrous Hearts

Our marriage is not of vows,
But fingers of flames, tracing curves.
Breathing into each other’s beds,
Smoking the smoldering coals,
Which once lay dormant, now,
Incensed by the passions of fools.

She brands my ears, with steaming gasps.
She tears the flesh from off my back.
With searing claws, she rings my finger;
My eyes reflect her dazzling embers.
As smoke chokes the air and sets free,
Sparks floating off, into the breeze.

It simmers through the night,
As the sun begins to rise.
The birds begin to sing,
The blaze begins to die,
And this pile of dry ash,
Is divorced into the sky.

Hoping to spark again,

Spring

The Sun would struggle with
Gasping chokes against thee,
Flowering plumes who squeeze
The breath of light, in spring.

Let your fury, in vein,
Clutch its petty vengeance.
Let the laughter you face
Breaks your sorrow’s promise.

Be silent, woeful lament.
Be still, shifting pilgrim.
Yet, the light will prevail.
Yet, my eyes will be filled.

Our skin to soon rejoice.
Our friends will soon convene.
Beneath tender kisses.
Laying, softly serene