I’m a tramp in a white dress
Lost in a blizzard
My gloves both have big holes
And my glass is half full
Because it’s alright
To go it alone
When the river runs wild
From the abyss of a true soul.
Your mystery should not scare me
Your torrent needlessly takes me
But as I observe your pure glee
It is pure awe that overtakes me.
Splashing at my exposed shins
And cleansing all my sympathy,
Your salty kisses sent as sprayed love
Hit me deep, into my very bones.
And your depth, so full of mystery,
Takes every last bit of my fantasy
To a region I could never see
Where gods conversed
And octopus traverse
And most everything else is lost
Into the abyss.
It’s no longer a crazy game
Of hand feeding hand.
Lust is not lost and
Games never end.
But look, it’s midnight.
My eyes have become swollen
With misery and trying,
And I’m loosing the edges
Of my bitter plan
I never hoped for you,
I never crossed my fingers
And bled questions into my
Well worn Tarot cards.
Here I was lost.
No. Here I wasn’t lost,
But it was here that
I began to remember
Who had soiled these sheets
With kindness and piss.
I cannot discover pleasure
Lurking behind bass cabinets.
I cannot look any longer
Into the abyss of your eyes.
Maybe we balanced our cross-hairs when we sent our whispers into night’s air.
A long, hollow howl,
A song to our own dainty ears,
Wishing for night to tarry while bringing us sleep
Footsteps reaching horizons edge, so evenly spaced so late in the day.
How did we manage,
How many words were pure thoughts,
Lingering ’bout our hesitant breaths like foxglove in the summer.
My moon silhouetted your name-sake tree, standing afar tall and proud.
Bloodline crawls down stony steps to waters edge,
Breaking off into still, deep black abyss
Waiting to find another whisper.
How do you love without losing
Without spreading open hearts and tears
Like eyes closing, it’s ending in silence
And personal crushing sinks in
But I, the monster, sinking it in
Scream out like bats whipping through night air
A full moon lurks beyond vision
Unknown and omnipresent; thoughts and sight
Writing my love letters
With blood dropped from a thorn
Splattering into a vial
Collected for these poems
I do not remember or recall
Or recede into a sheltered abyss
I do not wash my skin clean
But I am purity, spread open and sheen