until the end of the world

the blood is dry enough to be legible
between paper blue lines
I pour out what I can,
a honey to attract the smallest fly of attention.
A single minded religion of desire, the flesh of faith in
the empty hands of the sky.
yet I seek any translation for the
single tongue of my need, an oblivion
where prayes don't matter and every language is mine

this cup

I would drink the wine you pour
to know the crystal kiss that your lips may have left.
the faintest vibration of your heart
lingering in fingerprints remembered heat.
the gentle poison of your touch insinuating itself, and the bloom of your cheek
in the flush of blood rising in me.

do not take from me this cup until I have drunk fully of you

empty

with concrete feet I pace the the floor of days,
the slow grind of fingers along the bones of the past
just an empty spark and a
rusted out gas can of hope.
sodden hands overflow into eyes holding close
the night so shadows
can not steal what I can not see.
prayers flutter around the moons salience
lost in the temporary freedom but this is
not the emptiness they can fill.

slow

dance with me real slow.
try not to breathe,
each second held a little bit longer until
time gives up
and we are alone together.
the music, a rythym of two hearts

stained

the raw silk of my skin absorbs
the colors of your touch.
a blinding blackness
of desire, burning like midnight.
nicotine stains of anger
bleeding past edges and smudging
finer colors, filigrees
of happier times.
the twilight blue of a moon-filled
kiss, the yellow dawn
of a Sunday with you
wrapped around me.
all the flowers of your voice
have stained me.

but now your hand is gone. I fade, but the
monochrome of the rain can not
wash you away from me