1.
Lover's domino-tumble-heart
serenades disaster with eloquent cacophany;
powerlines hum
above groaning cornfields,
deja' vu mimes grace before wrath
(like the curl of your lips in pleasure)...
but where,
my love,
do you lie?...
2.
I remember being there with her,
beyond the noise of constant cars
where space steals night from city lights,
while locals who howl in moonlightsleep.
(or turn ever more frigid in a bar ditch,
dead,
after too many cheap light beers.)
3.
I can feel the blacktop warm my legs
as dark calls out for you.
4.
She...
(the memory)
was dark of skin,
with sad sad eyes that had seen too much
(played close to the vest, like cards...),a stripper in a valley of milky way brilliance,
fully clothed,
yet lithe.
She stared down sky for winks of fire
flung quick into morning light's kiss
at the edge of a spraying horizon's first breath,
where sunrays break magic with vision.
We laughed at the tragic and perfect new day
that would soon leave us nude in it's wake.
5.
With nefarious lips dripping honey and wine,
with a smirk and a drag,
She spoke:
"I am much like these wires that hang overhead.
I travel.
I churn.
I am danger.
I clip over wasteland-towns,
rye-blind,
and am bound among rows of erections wired high...
every one of which towers the same.
Trapped in the black of a visible shell,
hot light as it wishes for ground....
where stars skim spheres
and are skipped like stones
from the grasp of an unseen throw."
6.
A thousand hands had touched her breasts,
her slender thighs,
her lips...
Those lips that
held pout in sensual grins
and played out sirens,
loud for fear of...
sirens loud for haunting want of...
that thief of light
(called love)
that sparks between souls collide,
that threatened to grow in our
shutter wide eyes....
so I touched her hand instead...
a refusal to use and be used.
7.
Stalks that swayed raised up toward clouds,
yellow and drowned in electric screams.
The Johns that craved her moans were fools:
her worth was silent with awe.
Her treasures scrolled wise from her wound scarred heart.
8.
So I wait for your power to lash like light
in the fog of memory's fade....
for you,
(not her),
are wires,
my love...
grown mad to their follicles edge,
with a beauty so fierce to rend heavens to hell
as I burn in the bends of your hand.
Consumed...
just a husk in your hand.
Adding your comment:
C
