i’m the bearded
vixen
with a heart
of molten vanilla,
and i weep
in lipstick shades
down the mirror
every time
we play.
Author: grumpygorman
if love was the
flame,
we caught it
in our
teeth
to pass between
our lips
‘til first hint of
breeze
showed us it was
a tease.
sailing ships with
my eyes,
toes firm upon
land,
birds circling
until dizzy,
braced in sudden
a breeze,
summer rests its hand
upon my shoulder
to remind me
i’m seen
and stained into
the scenery.
is it drowning to
take in too
much
of a taste like
elation?
bliss
become
suffocation.
may i be that thing
again?
the one with
a use
that fit in the
hand
of a warm blooded
man at play.
’twas upon crooked
hill
that our house
leaned
as though to watch
us leave
for flusher
scenery,
as cracks turn
break
and paint becomes
flakes
may we never
glance
back
at its sorry
old state.
settling into
strange bathwater
i swallow soap
bubbles to
float
but drift to the
ocean floor
as though i’d
died here
before.
i turn my
head
to alter my
view
and notice you
turning
too.
ever humming unsettled
these hymns of
the mad
in a key that
could strip
the shine from
life’s tip.
the harm and deep
hunger
demanded much
louder
and every last
second
rang with
alarm
as clocks went off
between the
ears.
hands in the garden 
You must be logged in to post a comment.