kickinglovers

Death & Co.

Two, of course there are two.
It seems perfectly natural now ---
The one who never looks up, whose eyes are just lidded
And balled, like Blake's.
Who exibits

The birthmarks are that of his trademark ---The scald scar of water,
The nude
Verdigris of condor.
I am red meat. His beak

Claps sideways: I am not his yet.
He tells me how badly i photograph.
He tells me how sweet
Th babies look in their hospital
Icebox, a simple

Frill at the neck,
Then the flutings of their Ionian
Death-gowns,
Then two little feet.
He does not smile or smoke.

The other does that,
His hair long and plausive.
Bastard
Masturbating a glitter,
He wants to be loved.

I do not stir.
The frost makes a flower,
The dew makes a star,
The dead bell,
The dead bell.

Somebody's done for.

-

Its been a few weeks, and still my heart bearts with little momentum. Silly little games we play, always the fire we torch our skin with - was the one we thought was our friend.

I write again with a candyfloss conviction.. It's good to be home.

xX

There is always something to place a hold on the momentum of moving emotions. When meeting another being you appreciate, and appreciates you also - expect nothing but the worst kind of barracades, especially if you are one of an insecure sense. This pill is too bitter for my tongue you know. I just dont know what to do or how to say.

x