Memories are smoking guns
in the hands of girls
with finger nails painted black
and curse words on their lips.
She liked the taste of blood on the blade
Tattooing every obsession upon her canvas--
her page.
Her awkwardness. Desire.
Lust and punishment. Salvation in every orgasm.
She offers a glance
steps toward me.
Gets close enough
that we almost
graze lips.
The sharp insistent pain
of electricity coursing
assaulting,
violating,
all sensation.
I am raw nerves
slipping in and out of identities.
She wants the lash,
my lips upon her wounds.
The images of bones
twisted to form
erotic fixations
make me want her all the more.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
two times
It was the warmth of my breath
on the back of your neck
as I ran my fingers
up and down your spine.
You're convinced you play this game better than I,
because they've come to worship at your feet--
never realizing you're an illusion.
Real, unreal, and the black stars in between
fill the miles that separate us in everything but desire.
Each new season brings new revelations.
The eyes are the same, but those full lips I longed to bite,
form a softer smile -- unfamiliar.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
she only smiles in the dark
You sent me images,
fragments, clues.
Some were posed distractions,
others became erotic fixations.
Lust drove us down alleyways,
where I cornered you in doorways,
pinned you to the wall in an elevator,
stripped you in a dark hotel room.
Conquered and submitted
on the floor and bed
Desire is still coursing in my veins.
Traces of you are in my every thought.
I think about forcing your hand
because I know you only smile in the dark.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
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