Your name in my mouth like a rose
Velvet against the waters of my desire
Your name on my finger tips
A few tears and a soft kiss
Your name rising like blood
Red and warm, red and opaque
Your name on my lips
I hold a whistle and blow the vowels away
I’m left with you, I’m left with breath
I’m left with mmmmm and
somehow I will never get the chance to truly savor it
hiding between the breaths
sigh into my heart darling
let it seep into my blood
tell me where I’ll end up
when you don’t want me anymore
hiding between carresses
grip a little tighter darling
let yourself dig into my bones
carve your intentions
before you decide to leave me on my own
the distress of a voice
saying a name for the last time
each intonation a grave…
and it never lasts does it?
you want to be bigger than this mortal flesh;
loved and loved by another
comfortable heart to grow into
and seed immortality
you want to be grand and say, “God has my face”;
praying in temples
hoping to reach a peace
by their unwillingness
sit on a mountain and see with me
sit in the water and feel with me
God is not a person, not anything you can hold
sit with the birds and understand
to seek God is to try to make sense
the birth of the first wind
fragmented pieces; ice pick, pic axe:
and here you are yearning to fuse
but where’s the fire?
racing along timelines
dutiful pen checking off boxes
one by one
stay wilder than the wind
stray far from everything- ice pick, pic axe:
to your fragmented self
and fill in all the crevices
and burn with all the lightning
set ablaze and
one by one
you become part of the god
that birthed you
gods who reach for the blood filled chalices aren’t gods
who are they, these monstrous, hungry things?
a spell, and burning flame
waiting for the ashes of those that have died for you to stay a little longer, to pass on as you leave to burn for those now mourning you…
gods who drink deeply from blood filled chalices aren’t gods
“aren’t you a heathen, heretic?”
I’ve known them, sat at their feet and saw them feast from flesh. I waited for the whispers of a drunken fae who said, “if you feed on your own blood, you become a god”
I looked at the stars and understood
what is good love?
lover of the plasticine pirouettes crafted by hungry, hungry girls
what is it?
these sad relations have caused a tremendous wave of sentimental confusions
what is good, love?
lover of the intricate weavings crafted by hungry, hungry boys
what is it?
these yearnings have caused sleepless nights that free fall into daydreams that char my fingers, those incendiary devices waiting between lips that choose to say, ‘maybe honey, maybe’
good love can go wrong, you say?
wrap me in the wave dear then
tell the gods they cannot have this blood
I’ll drip over volcanoes and evaporate
this heart is mine
searing into and breaking apart
fleeing and running
saying all the prayers
reciting all the psalms
dear god of the hearth, where is home?
sitting and holding
waiting for the ticks and the tocks
musical time frames that suffocate
so I sear into and break apart
thrown into the abyss
but fleeing from all the demons
-just shadows snaking along my own
dear god of the heathens, where is home?
I threw your psalms in the fire
and held my heart in my fist
ate the entrails of my own monster
dear god of whatever is left of me,
where is home?
the piano, piano of the sigh that melts under eyes that have seen the closing of the day alone too many times.
the skins of sweet fruits that have withered in the grounds of pathways never taken- only on a whim, you said.
and on the junctions, forked roads, winding pavements, that fall forward, tumbling lights that scatter hoping to be caught.
where can I… how can I…
to reach the infinite possible breaths that roll and wander between your fickle lashes and my own distance, my own defenses, my own pretenses
now I’ve waited too long, I’ve become lost so, where will you wait for me?