You beautiful, beautiful woman.

You beautiful, beautiful woman.
Just like you, your exquisite tragedy
Is impeccable - It belongs in a painting.

And I, I want to be the stranger that
You'll eventually break down with.
I want to be the one to witness your undoing
And watch in awe - as every bit of you
Lies naked in front of me.

I want to be the one that takes you
Apart. Piece by beautiful piece.

Full Of Grace

 Full of Grace. Hail, not hell. All burn, no ash. Her mirrors are smoke free. She's the cross to bury the past. For Her, one must fast, and not move fast. It's the crease in Her smile that makes the chase for miles all worthwhile. It's subtle, wide and mistaken for not polite even. All teeth showing She means it honestly. Pep in Her 9's, She lends a few, too kind, when the clouds shade bright the color of night, erasing any thoughts of exhausting 9 lives. Daddies Son, but not Daddies Son, plan's to stick around whether this thing between is lost or found. When the sun shines blind, She can still show you the light. When the wind decides mute, and blows all silent you can still feel the cool in Her breeze. The grip in Her fingers never leave lonely palms lonely. She's dreamy, but non fiction amongst the fiction fixated on jaded. Her ripples, calm as still lakes. Pressure burst pipes,but Her pressure on pipes burst with Pleasure.......Full of Grace. Hail, not hell. All burn, no ash. Her mirrors are smoke free.

Departed wet

In the moonlight
the ghost got an erection.
But its shadow,
being modest,
just blurred itself

and took a cold shower.

It's 7 In The Afternoon

Yes 7 IN THE AFTERNOON

And I have forgotten

How to write in poetics 

Tongue kissed and gaping like
a siren missing from her sea.

 

I have been coughing up black for days.  

 Unable to clean the taste from my mouth,

These broken keyboard keys sewn into my fingertips scream something fierce.

They ache with longing to tell of a story

I am so damn tired of looking over railings
and wondering what it would feel like to fall.
.

Haunted

His whispered goodbyes caught fire
in the whites of her eyes as wild dogs
and empty oceans devoured him.
 

Standing still for years, 

She with a waiting heart and waiting fingers

Gave birth to ghosts with feathers.
Haunting in his sleep, swinging like

Sharp jewelery and pendulums

Carving cryptic messages upon his floor

'You, with your tattooed baptism skin
and slithering tongue of sweet poison
left her aching ashes mixed with gunpowder.'

Immortality

  She painted galaxies upon her skin.
Telling stores of years old kisses
resting deep within her marrow.
Her body, shaped with dirt and fireflies
was sutured together by birds with teeth

 A dark eyed oracle, whispering dead blood languages in her sleep.
Dancing in fields of silk sheets and disfigured fingerprints,

As she tried to forget the perverse needs

Of nothing more than mortal men.

Muse

 She corrodes star shapes into
the hearts of sleeping poets,
slowly, methodically.