Widow me of your gaze,
ugly *******.
The whistles of birds,
are torture from ***** mouths.

I saw your blood pour down into the abyss, it danced like a river of abundance. I saw them opening their jaws, drinking it like water of vitality. I saw them leap for joy as they bathed in your crimson rain. You laid there beside me, pale and cobalt. You lay so free, you lay so pure. I touched your skin and my fingertips froze, your soul had fled. I felt sorrow, I felt pain. That night I died with you, I stuck the knife to feel your suffering, I stuck it deep without any shame. My eyes fogged as my final exhale misted the black air.
This is sanctity.

Mon Amour

When a man whispers
"His feet hurt, and his shoes
are too small and
he's forgotten how to dance."
He prays noone else
understands his dilema,
nor what this means but I do.
No moon rises betwéen his
lowly stinky creepy
femfatales shoe-less other.
My moon spins way up higher
in orbit serving mystic functions
and our moon glares
in each others eyes
as our breathing sighs in love.
True love is our vine that
reigns in us as gravity rules on Earth.
With trips to nowhere and back
In love and without presence
I remain lost and found
a restless Angel.
~~~~~~~~
Mr. and Mrs. Andrews