Gone.

Would you be,
any fonder of me,
if I suddenly chose,
to start listening?

Would you decide,
to more deeply confide,
the darkness behind,
your odd eccentricities?

Shall I unbind,
this heart of mine,
lay it down on your table,
where the other parts lie?

I suppose you’d prefer,
if I acted just like her:
if I loved co-dependently,
full-time, live-in “fluffer”;

If I leaned on you, heavily,
with intentions only pure?
a dead weight weighing down,
the coat-tails in your future;

Would you choose to diffuse again?
if I checked my levels of estrogen,
had my words been better chosen,
would I have someday been forgiven?

What if, instead of,
this twisted notion of “love”,
I recognized one evening,
the ill fit of your glove;

and the day soon arrives,
with my wide open eyes,
seeing things the way that I,
should’ve seen them, by and by;

all you’ll find is my trust,
blindly choking on my dust,
as you see me get smaller,
in the distance between us.

Bubble Bath.

I thought you’d left while I was in the bubble bath;

So I paraded around sporting bitchy tits ‘n ass…

I wrapped myself up in your freshly washed towel;

telling myself I was glad that you were gone now…

Silly me; you actually never had gone anywhere at all;

I found you standing quietly with your mouth opened in awe …

Beads of sweat dot your head; a crown of liquefied guilt;

Swallowed whole – from all you know; desire you’ve never felt…

And when you see my red-ruby pouting start to pucker,

and sense how my insides tense;  you sexy mother-fucker…

Lick me clean of my tears – salted by such childish fears;

strike a match against the fuse between the filthy and the pure…

tonight I stroke your hidden side – that displaced face you always hide;

Allow me to perfect your view of how a good girl will abide…

you stood there, your hands wringing with intensity;

shirtless and hungry like a pre-meditative beast,

I was yours bendable expendable – that’s right,  wrapped up tight;

And you were yourself – an animal, ever-ready to bite…

the time became a sucking noise from the drain,

you manhandled my body and I hijacked your brain;

I’m glad you never left while I was in the bubble bath;

it’s sad to think about it now after so much time has passed.

.

 

Of My Court.

The line is clear,
your voice is true –
when you inquire,
if I still belong to you…
my response is sure,
as the day is long –
when I assert,
that I belong to no one…
though, in spite of such,
the flame that we produce –
continues to burn,
the hottest shades of blue…
the whitest heat,
the love runs deep –
like a river’s mouth,
feeding directly into…
the vastness of oceans,
the vacuum of space –
the grip of your fingers,
the look on your face…
you remain my Hero,
the Champion of my court –
whittler of my wooden heart,
fixer of my broken parts…
you’ve caught my tears,
and scrubbed away,
in total disarray –
the stains left by my blood…
you’ve carried me,
screaming and kicking,
cursing the heavens,
from the top of my lungs –
you sat me down,
when the day was done…
and reminded me of how,
redemption would come –
someday, somehow,
you say, let’s focus on,
this moment right now…
and the future to come,
but the truth is,
when good nights are said,
and the laughter is gone –
I still love you as much,
as I’ve always done…
the distance that has,
always plagued –
the wedge between,
any regular touch,
that much needed spark,
a transmission,
the ignition,
a link that strings invisibly –
between yours,
and my own skin…
it is still this way,
for the same reason today,
as it always was back then –
you’re there,
and I’m here,
love can’t make,
the void disappear…
no matter how true,
or how real, or pure –
I know it hurts you so much,
that I need to be touched,
I need to be felt,
heard, and related to –
up close and personally,
not electronically,
not through text messaging…
you can claim me,
the day that I finally –
say “fuck it”,
and come home to you.

Try Me.

Try me, spicy,
cursive Roman lettering…
A secret alphabet,
Dicey;
enticing the skin
of my fingertips;
dividing the places
between my hips;
underneath, and
in between,
how did you know?
How can you be?
The Keeper of
the lock and key…
when I
can’t even find the thing?
Try me, scarface,
nemojte me obožavaju?…
Made of bones –
Which dialect
Do you know?
si me obožavaju?
can’t you understand?
Made of flesh –
And strung
around your neck,
you want it wet…
I’m in your net.
Please?
Release…
Try me, Handsome,
I’m yours for sure
Your unsecret whore,
Of the North Shore.
Made of stones,
tell me…
who is right and wrong?
It does not matter,
It never will,
Let me in –
Let me kill;
Your darkest chatter,
Be it gone,
so that my ears
will hear…
your every love song.
Push me and pull me
Carry on…
I hear you
I see you
I know your soul,
you know that I do…
it can’t be controlled;
it won’t be withheld,
that wouldn’t be fair…
tongues and tresses,
swallowed air…
necklaces of skulls and things,
bite marks and ink stains;
I love your pleasures,
you love my pains.
What the fuck
was my point again?

Overstuffed.

 

Friday night
in the black and white filmstrip,
an evening wind licks,
howls out clear and crisp,
can’t quite catch my breath;
heart-heavy –
touch your hand to my heart
and get ready –
the whip cracks back,
bitten into my bottom lip,
the tension slacks
and I twitched under your fingertips;
in rhythmic and seamless movements;
flows dominantly –
touch tongue to skin
and the outs and ins you find fitting –
burned through the dark,
your eyes made out of twinkly skies,
hand-fed meals for my Master,
a mouth full of sugary lies,
your touch
breaks my spirit down;
leaves it for dead –
your voice
sings the revival
non-stop in my head –
my body is awe-stricken,
whip-lashed into submission,
flipped front and back,
on your overstuffed bed.

Unfillable.

Unfillable 2016

I know that more than most like you,

you do what you mean,

you mean what you do,

I see you’ve proven tried and true

how your presence hangs

over empty work boots

I see only YOU can fill those shoes

nobody else,

no one, but you.

I know that more than most like me,

I fall down harder,

I heal more slowly,

you see what resembles, vaguely,

that maybe I’m just,

behaving protectively,

you see the way that I’m sinking,

desperate thrusts uppercut,

to kick you free from me,

The truth is much harder to loose,

it can fly like an arrow,

or choke like a noose,

til nothing is left to solve or deduce,

high like the sparrow,

left singing the blues.

 

Overstuffed.

p_a_i_n_by_the__pessimist-d5cynmq

Friday night
in the black and white filmstrip,
an evening wind licks,
howls out clear and crisp,
can’t quite catch my breath;
heart-heavy –
touch your hand to my heart
and get ready –
the whip cracks back,
bitten into my bottom lip,
the tension slacks
and I twitched under your fingertips;
in rhythmic and seamless movements;
flows dominantly –
touch tongue to skin
and the outs and ins you find fitting –
burned through the dark,
your eyes made out of twinkly skies,
hand-fed meals for my Master,
a mouth full of sugary lies,
your touch breaks my spirit down;
leaves it for dead –
your voice sings the revival
non-stop in my head –
my body is awe-stricken,
whiplashed into submission,
flipped front and back,
on your overstuffed bed.