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.

Why do you love me so?

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*

*

*

Do I really have to explain to you?

*

It’s like…

*

when I see that,

that human, so human and so much…deity

just deity,

it’s like a fuse that engrained my mind before conception had burst so that

I just feel all of my nerve threads down to my finger tippy tips.

No,

I’m not awake or alert but

dreaming

in a cacophony of color schemes more saturated

than my camera in a poorly orchestrated setting while it’s in aperture mode.

The emotions that orbit my mind

spin, debating

whether the newest schema they hold

is oxytocin or a reenactment of the saber-toothed tiger, out for my skin.

*

But not even they can hold up their expectations to the reality of being, which is

you.

After you exposed yourself to me,

I simpered like a little girl

whose cuddle toy, shreds of imaginary hopes she vested in self-preservation, was

dumped when hands cursed of Fates threw them out.

And that’s when the world morphed into gradients of white and black,

though I don’t pity you.

*

Don’t come close.

Lest I burn you.


Author’s note: No, I’m not tripping on acid.

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?”