Confession on the Footstole of Infamy

I.  Innocent

Your age:
the solid prison door,
and I am desperation leaning
on the bars, restrained,
hands locked in
weeping stone.

You are so lovely.

Please
I need…you
are untouchable.

I keep myself laced,
tied to the bones, rueful.

I am no monster.



II. Defeat

Eyes, hot
as ice
enough to melt lungs
liquefied.

Your lips evoke youth
hidden; as innocent as a dandelion.

Breathless through broken knees
I pray, wishing
control: grasp it, as it flows
through hands like water.

Resolves spills on glass, shatters
with one touch.

Fool…
An embrace obliterates, now
there is no truth, no hard ground
to tread on, only this,
which we can’t
capture.

Desire as elusive as the force
beneath your breast,
as cruel as this
kiss.

(I am sorry)



III. Monster

Holding
on each step we take
together, thief- when we touch
exquisite
you have my heart wrapped
in the breath between
sheets, shaking.

why do I love you?

please, stay now
in the gooseflesh
of heat rising, here
you melt immorality
off my palms.

I have lost my mind.



IV. Destruction

the slate, no longer
blank, blinks at me
undeniably ominous,
the monster under our bed.

Infamy gnaws away at the
flesh, now eyes
penetrate and develop
a sixth sense to find
depraved love and dissolve it
like mad men.

I am too easy to find,
suspended in soot, bolted
down by the slender limbs
of a child who will not
leave my mind.

You destroy me.