And maybe it’s because two Juliets will never
crave a Romeo.

I am jealous because she is the painting.
phosphorescently naked at pale twilight
in the glow of mystical aurora. she dances.
her legs spliced in lusting stance: I will not take her.
[I am but the frame: the outline to something greater.
She takes me to her womb, but not in a lavish tongue.
In a silent entrapment; milk soaked Elysium
and nourishes me like the child I am]

At the time of passing
when our lips really do bleed: we will wear it like lip gloss
thick and smeared; smouldering and gluttonous.
[I want to gather my thoughts on leashes
and muzzle them into silence.
but we won’t get away with it]
I spoke no truths to my taker in my soul baring state;
I’m a bland dull canvas with a crusted paint image of the sea.
in his eyes. the watcher of the water will wait for an insolent
gasp to his bony structure; his brittle fingers on that oar.
We willed him to turn and see our soundless undoing.
Instead of reading our pleasure filled thoughts;
because we all [on occasion] embrace that handless clasp.

We both smiled.
with parched darkbloodiedcongealedcovered lips
[we are dirty and cruel. We smirk at there failings]
He never saw it coming: Oh!
how we grinded to dust the lifeless bones
of a martyr. as though it were our passion.
We took what was left of his being
He is sailing on dead waters; blasphemous calm;
like the strands of a spent saviour
ripped from the source of his own musings.


She shines full circle and swallows my fruition because now
We too. are heavenly creatures. in the fourth world.

07/21/2011