She came -
Dripping in blood
Like all the plagues of heaven
Ethereal torture
I've fallen in love -
With a demon

On a bench at the park, in
The last light of day,
I wring and fling my tongue
Like a brush full of paint --
I beat it and the dusty words
Fly from the old red rug.
The splatters and droplets
She uses to paint a smile, gorgeous
And colourful, and she wraps the
Rug in her own, wringing
The dust out of both.

It was the Watermelon in your hair --
You know,
The way the red juice dripped
Off your draping curls, and spilled
On your shirt.

It was the way you sat with me while
We watched fireworks --
A love I couldn't yet feel while I was
Still so Alone
-- and before that when we
Sat at the park, listening
To ****.

It was the way it was you and me,
Laughing over a small screen
Away from the others; the way
You made me feel so wanted.

It was the way you snorted when
You laughed, and lifted your
Nose to give me piggy
Kisses after each and every one.

But the it was never stopped.
It never will.

The Sun holds her chisel ever steady
In her warm tan hands;
She presses the warm steel
To my face.
She is obsessed with time --
Knowing she's getting
Ever older.
With every circle I dance around her,
She etches another tally
On my face,
To remind herself how old she is
In me.

Burn so green. Burn numbers, burn
faces, burn like Montag did so many years ago
-- mulch their ash until they are food for whiskers
between your toes. Fold the paper in origami
shapes until they are blades and bulbs and
branches; fold the paper into hats and planes
and quilt them into blankets for lovers.
Strip them of colour and print Bibles on them,
drowning them in water that will not dissolve.
Pull them tight across lips and blow on them
for reeds like thick blades of grass until
they hum like the wings of hummingbirds and
bumblebees and fill the air with audible chaff.
Send them covered in poetry in a brown paper
bag with that pretty girl you married long ago
for her lunch she didn't expect on that tired morning.
All this because you are blood and soil and earth,
and allow no less to tame you.

She's the sun of my life
Who melts away the lead walls,
Tickles out the smiles, and
Brightens up my overcast.

Swords and secrets slice the
Air like dragons wings, and
Meat and mead are split
Through thick beards and
Fair maiden faces, and
The songs and words pour
Out fantastically as my eyes
Soak up each page. But nothing
Will ever be as wonderful, or
Fantastic, or so awe inspiring, or
Purely powerful or magical
As those Oaken eyes that keep
Sentinel on my face, that perch
In a cream face of radiating
Beauty, a captivating to
Rival any story.