I know I can forgive you
as that iris laps in the view,
of a knife up to my throat.
Your eyes, in sweet loathing; afloat.
The red truth on rings,
frantic in my ears
soft as butterfly wings.
Soft as butterfly wings.

Your voice, so near me, an ocean away
crashing and foaming
cursing my life, begging I stay.

Curled, unsure fingers
beneath the dark of my hair,
shadowed and lingers.
The day so forgotten, the moment so there,
forgiven, unfair.
Felt like an animal, fighting to be tame,
and your hand - domestication, clutching my veins.

Thought of the clementines you so cherished much
as juice dripped down your boyish arm,
on and on, until crimson pulp, to touch.

Pulls at twin cords,
cold, practiced fear and warmer words.
Same pulse along the jaw.
Familiar flush of jade stroked wings.
The end, hopeless and raw
and the feeling your name, on brings.

Through all spite and longing,
days of sun forever dawning
I get fluttering creatures
still as a hand so seizures.
Deep in place unknown
between belly and throat.
Under gruffest tone
and nights alone.
They will never wish a wing to know
the hurt of hidden bones.
How it come, ever slow.

Your taste, your say, your meaner things,
soft as butterfly wings.
Soft as butterfly wings.

The angst of pain
is so foolish gone
when blade of gruesome lust and flushing hate,
is in your hands.
So, at my heart, it stays.

Lost the taste for weakened gin and things like him,
lonely frozen months and lying in the warmth of his seat.
Forgiveness was my nutrients,
forgiveness was what kept me here,
forgiveness was my meat.

I had picked that skeleton all but clean and dry,
watched it crack and bleach with days gone by
sat gasping 'neath a summer's sky
and wished that I too, could die
feel the hollow grow of my eye.

Still that silver truck never rolled over the big dust hill
so I had to take up and leave
guide my weary soul to another man that yearned to ****.

I am
goddess of wet feet and sunken things
wandering thoughts, broken dreams
and all the seashells children never claim
I am goddess of a misty rain.

Mermaid tears that shine like opal
and promised ring of empty proposal.
Whispers heard from the depth of tide,
a lonely ghost without another beside.

Sand upon the crease of weathered skin
how long it takes, years and years
of "when?"

Lilac scented candles, hovering in the stark of night
I am goddess of hand struck in spite
I am goddess of all things that will never go right
of moon waning, of sweat beads, fallen kite.

Spilled champagne upon a dusted floor
dying breath...we ask for more.
Romance, you and I could never adjure
I am goddess they seldom kneel for
a woman sheepishly dying, along with her lore.

I think I must have loved you
beneath the holly bush
Where red fire grew
and silver voices hushed.
I think I learned and knew and pined
a different form of word,
one which I was free to call you mine.
A whisper, still, you so heard.

Ever on, the things of sleep and fur all stirred.
For winter's numbing breath
was far past faith's deceit
of mere comfort, ease, and depth.
Beyond linen sheets and rosy cheeks
and you at peace with I.
So I sit through season's wistful sorrow
frost and birth's sweet lies.
To see the day bleakness says its last goodbye,
and you awake me a 'morrow.

I want to touch you until my hands lose grip and meaning,
and we've lost the world we thought to be seeing.
Til' from my palm,
gone,
the creases of fortune,
the mangle of time.
I want to love you,
so true and so hard
even our kisses start to rhyme.
Wordlessly plead,
your worship, your prurience,
your where and when.
The ache of my silent needing
dripping on down your chin.

Sometimes, when I look up at the sky I see
more faces smiling back at me.
That make me clean,
wash dark indigo over the scene.
Of the twisted human being,
our body’s simple liberty.
Sunshine never brought me glee
because under the light, much you can see.
Everyone has security,
secrets whispered cautiously.
The stars, they weep with me
for all we cannot teach
For that reason we remain
out of mandkinds reach.

Hands,
sleeves pulled over.
head lowered.
And
touch me slower,
your soul, I beg closer.
Barren land,
I am
a temperament of dry sands.
Hands,
break me
and build me into something of sensuality.

My face redder
with every breath I withheld
and I think you could be better
If you loved like what my mind did weld.
Veil had no need to cross my face
only wished, for so long, to look in your eyes,
and match the drum of your feet as you paced.
I don't think I wanted you -
just someone there when I passed on
so no one could whisper of how
I was so alone when I had gone.

I remember
what it was like.
In the rain, in the night.
Clothed in ******,
cold like starlight.
Trees of black and green, on bending to our will.
Every creature, every soul, every stirring eye; still
Waist deep in regretting
and head, so far under all I loved forgetting.
Your smile, like a boy's, so plain and youthful
my eyes, so wrong, too old...too truthful.
All I could feel was the weight of those hands
couldn't suffer my yearning, though I could understand.
The next wake and early morning
I walked in solitude, the fool's crown adorning.
As you shuffled on home, shoes to the sidewalk, slide
I, twelve paces behind, pretending it was your side.
Become bluer on bluer as you step with the lines,
so I cursedly follow
picking up rays the sun left behind.

I love days like this
late day sunshine, early summer bliss.
The magnolia smells of home,
no matter how displaced
June breeze, calm and playful
your hand on my bare waist.

Sometimes I stare out beyond what I can see
and wonder who else has been.
Ancient southern trees
covered in spanish moss where leaves grow thin.
The night approaches
a lone rider with no name
the cover of darkness imposed
and fashions mystery just the same.

Growing restless in the thickness of heat
solstice tastes like sugar and a hidden moon
something mindless and indistinct.
Burning for as long as an eye can blink,
gentle little light of beetle make the way
know it could lead me somewhere far, far off
but here, I so wish to stay.

Fresh cream and sugar on a piece of cake
why wait, why wait?

It crumbles after a day or so
this, we know
so should I take it in my mouth to savor
or let my mind and feelings waver?

The summer sun - warm and unafraid
she will be gone, soon as night takes over day
I cannot greet the silvery light
we must bask, indulgently, while it is bright.

However,
this bottle upon my shelf
grows in flavor and in wealth
with each day that passes
so it does not touch any crystal glasses.

Green sanctuary, sweet perfume
honeysuckle bloom
and fruit springs from the vine
should I just give it time?

Is 6 years or 64 far too late
why wait, why wait?

What is action, what is fate?

Why wait?

Why wait?