mystery.

crazy!
he calls
after

i take
the compliment
meant to harm

morph into
his dream
swim deep

into unpleasant thoughts
surrounded by
future fights

transgressions
meek smiles forced
stretched out, about

and around me,
i welcomed
and wrapped you

into play
naively friend…
teasing

you listened
as no one ever
spanked this

hard ass
your love stung
-smack back

missing.

how can i miss
what i never had
you ask
but i did have you
and still possess

the words spilled
on my dress
the magic marker
highlights the stars
spread under the hem

this horizon
never ending
we agree to never
wash our hands
again -your grin

wiped clean by tide
a rinse cycle failure
and the poison drunk
as one forever
unto our death

in obedience we sunk

retreat.

this whispered touch
middle finger caress
splits open -borders
a wounded heart
to bleed love
and flow your way

dreamt you held
these broken bones
crushed dream -hoarder
i offered you
my orange creamsicle
spiked with fear

perched atop
you slink below
covered silk -corridor
i whisk away…
you needed more
rain to pour

chasing me into trouble
under the gun -again
and now i will never be free

pathetic

this strikes at the heart
-love, bondage to you

felt the river flow through
the winding path I dug
laid with rock and bloom

dies faster than i did
wrapped in arms
germinating hope

a callous smile
i failed to read

God bless this man
-i was, the greatest dope.

peril

The deepest,
darkest
rises in the fog,
burned away -hidden desire.

Oh, why feel
so free
behind the screen?

And how our creator
tapped into the sensual,
leaves us mourning
the loss of soul.

Attending the Opera

— Read on Fabric on the Daily Post

What are we willing to give up? What would i find behind your curtain as i swing it aside? Have you, will you, consider letting me know?

I wait. Anticipate. Is this a game eagerly played by two? Or only i?

Am i setting myself up for your opera. Life over as fast as it started. Slow. Drawn out misery. Ending with a cry of freedom!

A peek behind the madness of death exists behind every curtain. It matters not your fabric woven. The rapacious appetite for breath carries us along.

I do not plan to go anywhere. Neither behind your curtain. Or stand before it. I want to be your covering. Shield you from peering eyes.