what are you
besides these two
fingers of inhibition?
i cradle you to my breast
and i count to three
before i release the devil
of my own demise.

i am rotten, honey.
if you didn't know before
than shine the black light
on my lips and ask your creator
if you're whole or not.





He will tell you
that your own demise
is made of poison that came through
this hollow shell of nothingness.

i want more for you than
the sleep philosophy found in
disbelief. i am lightning and fire
and if that's what you want
then i am wide open.

but if you want cooling pies
on your windowsill you should call
the lady who made your wisdom into
dirty love in Georgia where the Atlantic
is cold but it meant something.

i am subversive/belated flailing pumice stone
turning your feet into smooth skin
and though i want to be the right lady for the
flickering of candlelight on your smooth-shaved face,
i'm afraid that all i am is the
stink on your middle digit
after i come
while you lie awake lonely
waiting for the exception to
your tenderness.

06/15/2011

Posted on 06/15/2011
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