Live a little, lie a lot

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I prefer reminiscing the peak of dawn,

the scene of myself lying all limp and lanky

after all my energy I transferred

into your lips.

Spent. Unlike the superficial beauty

that I keep alive in my perfume bottle and complexion

to seduce my equally dashing counterpart.

***

Body of a man.

Face of a woman.

***

Him? Her? My understanding is blurred

while I’m still drunk on life and nihlism.

I like your big hands, though,

a cheap mimicry of the real package.

Old wisdom told me that

ya ain’t good for me, bubs-!

ever since I dubbed you the ultimate

Generator of Dreams.

But what happens when dreams become a reality?

***

“Stay,” I sobbed into an imaginary breastcoat

after you smothered me so hard my head swam

in a narcotic pool of my own making.

“Exist. Even if just.

Else I’ll wither.

Lie to me so hard you fail me

gracefully.”

***

Live a little,

Lie a lot.

Old Love

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This old song

reminds me of the old love;

of chemical synapses

and aimless relapses

and then the lack thereof.

*

It niggles in the crevice of my mind

Waiting to latch onto sight,

And then it’s a fusion

Of rapture and willing delusion;

But only when the time is right.

Ducts

They sing ripened milk sacs

slung across the chest, bearing

respite for a weary head to lean onto,

nourishment gathered by The Rib itself,

and love, a sweetly overflowing fountain

savored among the world’s sisters.

If ever you need to exchange

one heart for the other,

you so self-unaware,

you’ll find me crying

like a fussy infant babe

long overdue for its sleep…

Arches

Eyebrows —

so bushy

I can lose myself in a garden

of clustered follicles.

Arches

like flying buttresses

leading into entropic passion.

A framed testament to your soul,

I lust for a life dedicated to

making love to them.

Pupper

two yellow labrador retriever puppies
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I found this one in an old notebook!

***

You were the one holding

that baby retriever and facing the camera

With a gleaming grin of

Ecstasy all over your face.

You were the one, with a sleight

Of touch, snapped an aesthetic

Of them playing,

Biting

Whining,

Slobbering,

Their cootie-cuddly baby eyes shut tight

In dreamy ruminations.

You are the one hiding beneath that

mound of wriggling fur,

Not knowing, innocent as they,

As I once was,

Who’s really hiding under that lively mound.

You say, “puppy farm”

But for all I know,

I say, “puppy mill.”

I don’t like puppies.

Manifest Secret

woman s index finger on her lips
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As I tell us my story of you,

The tension of your omnipresence spills

All over the tangible world

Like a child splattering its wholesome glory

Over a ripe canvas.

Everywhere I am,

You are —

For the trees to breathe in,

For my father to hear my giddy delight,

To guffaw with my friends,

For you to oust my secret stories

Out of the woodworks.

For the mountain-tops

To rejuvenate the air

And draw a portrait

Of you.

The ripple has ceased,

Longing has eased —

One of those dilly-dallying days

If I think of you again,

I need only spread my tendrils

And grin.

Flux

pink petaled flowers closeup photo
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I caught the glorying gaze of a cherry blossom tree;

Its fortune told me the future of my hearting flame.

I inhale its preening scent of beautiliciousness

And throw it to the sky,

Sky,

Sky…

 

I saw you. Then.

You didn’t even spare me a sympathetical glance.

Please don’t hate me now. Hate me later.

All I need is an understanding while I cry,

Cry,

Cry…

 

Because

view of dark hallway
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A moment in the interlude of infinity,

My thoughts flicker over to you —

I think a pixie sprite wrapped

Its spindly slender antennas around my heart

And emitted warm pulses through my quivering veins.

A whiff of burberry once again

Uplifts my head into the air

As if it’ll snag my chin and kiss me down

To the barren strips of my soul.

My neck aches from craning at each footstep

In each desperate hour.

Perhaps another day, then,

I’ll hear your voice

Sweet as bubbling milk with honey.

You say your lines to-do,

but your eyes ask,

“Why this hicktown stranger?”

Well,

Because…

Pipe Dream

orange petaled flower
Photo by Evie Shaffer on Pexels.com

 

The air weans in partings of a summer breeze

But nay if it hasn’t swept in a lovelorn fear, or some,

At which I gaze in disconcerted ease.

*

It’s cold here. It’s cold here. I keel, then I’m numb;

That only you’d lie your love onto me — that I’d fain

In a frenzied season’s past, a past my pain is from.

*

One flitting thought, a thousand strolls purged in vain;

‘Tis the consequence of your haunting face,

So sweet my perfume smells like pain.

*

What now? No fear, no sense, no rush, no pace,

My game carried on in unlimited breadth;

I can’t wait forever, but I can’t win time’s race.

*

And so, my eyes faded in recurring death,

I pass you my final requiem on the fog of my breath…

Yours,

Yeah, the comma after the end of the title isn’t a mistake. 

Tried to make this one a variation of the Petrarchian sonnet.


Laced with heart’s wild and warm-blooded

Hymns of praise and pure,

Stray thoughts spurt like a fountain top,

And all its sweetly pleasures do they rain.

You’re warmer than blood,

Closer than flesh,

I wish to the Aether each day afresh

That your revelation was not in vain.

*

Every spirit of the living air,

Every mirage holds a light

To your ghostly countenance

And breathes life into me anew.

It shimmies down my veins

Into yearnful elations

As I utter you my finest proclamations:

“Can I keep you?”