I saw your vanity in that kitchen
no words were exchanged
yet, you spoke to me

we have belonged to others
over the 12 years
small windows of opportunity
open & close

then you broke the silence
a sweet kiss may turn to thorns
always a fantasy, hitting reality

flooded with ideas of affection
for a Saturday yet to come

so erotically unexpected
your fingers made there
way up to heaven...
beneath that turquoise table

in darkness a secret
becomes the truth
the self-indulged ego
has just made me
another whore

feeling empty, not alone
I wonder...
did I taste as sweet as the last?
do any of us end up in a song?

knowing fantasy is better than reality
why do I indulge myself?

will you remember the night
of the full moon
in March...

while you lay on your belly, i'll knead the hard edges of your flight. you are a fallen angel, but still as the angles are... body light as a dragonfly, great gold wings cut across the sun.

if i'm not careful you'll cut me. if i slip my hand too casually down the sharp side of your scapula. i will lift away a bleeding palm.

i know the stigmata of presumption, a wound that will not heal if i take you for granted.

sometimes i run into the sunset arms wide like a scarecrow, think i can jump off the side of the world into the fiery furnace and be burned up in you.

i would like to wrap my body in the blazing streaks of bloodshot sky with your arms around my naked shell.


i miss your touch