Impossible to believe again?
In these victorian nights of corseted heat and whale bone cold,
my arms empty of eternity
spinsterish in their claim of fierce independence,

My patience holds a
bud flower
coiled and tight.
Not long in tooth,
nor short in temperance

developing its own
patterns of manipulation;

Hold off on a comment,
rethink an agenda,

can I dare to step away,
step down.
can I bare to,
give up, to allow.

Do I fade- an old photograph of long lost love and unmet expectation?

its just a word right.. a fucking psycho-babble name throw
its just a game not played or played too well
its just a problem that I have or don't depending on your view
so what, what if I do

I was watching you…
I was watching you as you sat, in the light
Shadows and planes across a series of emotion plays

I was watching you as you slept, in the glow

What it isn't anymore is mine
it isn't mine to carry to hold to break over
What it isn't anymore is simple
it isn't I love, you don't, I want
What it isn't anymore is present

its just a thing... a little lacy... a little racy
its just a comment, evocative maybe, as in intended.
its just a pop up story, a come and get it dinner bell

you know the yearn... the tug... the pull
you know the meaning of the leg crossed in your direction
you know the intention of the held breath, the fierce glance

It runs through, like deer, swiftly coming.
Shaken by the sudden, upraised head.
It is hasty, in its bunchy, muscle flexing. Time elapses and on it runs.

Expectations

It separates, from subcutaneous
Fat,
layer by layer,
epidermis, dermis, sub dermis.
And between the layers and underneath,
an acid bile flows in.

And swim in it I do,

Of time and place

Often the thought comes uninvited,
to go home.
Home in this active, overfull existence,
where does it stand?

Children do not sleep there,
animals no longer wait,

Shiraz

Plum-like sweet, with hint of
spice, wetting my lips,
awash over eager tongue.
To fuel, honey sweet release of neurons….

And later on…

Ammonia seeped and steeped and

Let go

If I just lay here,
will the information come,
perfect drops of osmotic inspiration
dipping, dripping, dripping.

And, if I just lay here,

Some thoughts about you…

To sleep… at night I scream,
at least I’m here.

To fuck… a little luck,
and hold you near.

To lie… a little high,
and live with fear.

Rosy Palm

Rosy knows,
the cadence and the dance,
the quick and furtive,
raunchy and silence stressed.

She whispers less now in my ear
than then.
Tales of industrial strength vibration