Lighting a Candle
------------------------
Mm', it was a scalding August afternoon,
taken by the hands and led up
a spiraling staircase to a dusty room
all for a taste of your love.
A slice of sunshine crept in
like a blanket of inquisitive lumination
watching contently at the stroking of skin
drenched in beads of relieved anticipation.
Held down gently in a whisper of a kiss
inches from a victorian headboard of steel
in a bed quite aged with elegance
and graced by a history of tourists.
It's lovely to take in the nostalgia
with a trepid hand trailing your spine;
yes, what a place to have fun;
Mm', what an excellent time.
One day shy of a week preceding
a well-spent seventeenth,
you came to me with a rather intriguing
idea for an afternoon of possibilities.
You just had one little birthday wish
to present when you had the nerve;
you'll settle for a hug and a tender kiss,
but you'd like your pie in a hearse.
Mm', yes, just right in the back
where the reaper takes a ride
(I'd been invited to take a stab
at the same kind of high).
Just right in the back of the
vehicle where a corpse lies perfectly stil
(although, that's not what we expect
when you're moving in for the kill).
There's nothing quite like being
held so close and loved so tenderly
in such an odd place to be,
yet behaving so naturally.
One could never forget
deft fingers through their hair
nor the feel of an anxious tongue
in a kiss to ease any cares.

The darkness wasn't quite enough
to disguise such a genuine smile.

Darling Subject
-------------------

Part One : Night Into Day
-----------------------------
The sky simply glows
a slinking shade of orange;
out the window it's quite
the sight severed by
the streetlight.
There's a blade of the night
cast in the corner, crawling
across the carpet, and the blinds
will soon be closing.
I'll switch on a dim light;
soon darkness will be falling,
then comes the incentive
to write,
and yet inspiration goes awry
but arrives by morning.

Socialites crowd and chatter;
the incessant buzz of voices
accompanies whispers and laughter.

Dead quiet is the hive
during somebody's lecture,
yet the traffic wails outside
and not a soul is pestered.
Drained is the mind
that thinks for everyone else;
eyes are then blind
to seeing for themselves.

Thursday morning's antics
of my inkpen and its weary waltz
lay down trepid tactics
of intriguing an audience.
Sometimes it's a good read
for whomever stumbles in;
stand to watch me bleed
through the sketching of my pen.

Mm', just a little thought
brought something to mind
and caused me to stop
for a lovely time.
Such a plain piece
isn't aiming to please;
just somewhat of a
heinous hint or a
sultry suggestion could take one
to their knees;
just somewhat
of a tame tease
or some playful provoking
could make for a piece
more to their liking.

I'll choose
a subject to hold,
and you,
I do suppose
will do
more than just do.

Quite unexpected
is the gradual change
of subject.


Part Two : Evening's Daydream
-------------------------------------
I'd like to take
your hands in mine
and witness a smile
as I'm
holding them tenderly,
face to face,
transfixed by lovely eyes
most unlike
anything I've ever seen.
My dear and darling
subject, a gem in
a box of stones;
many hours of talking;
time spent in marvelous
intervals,
all for the affection
rather sinfully genuine.
My love, my dear,
my drug of many occasions,
often do I wish you were here
for a touch of conscious sedation.

You never fail to impress me
with that knack you possess;
your charm battles the complexity
of all my weaknesses.

I desire to touch you;
a gentle embrace will do.
Anything else for your pleasure
will be all yours --
measure for measure.
I desire to touch you
for the warmth and security;
I speak in stripped-down truth;
(Oh, so often controlled by honesty).

Do you know just how
much I cherish your love?
As curious as I am, y'know,
I wonder if there's such
a thing as loving you too much.
I desire to kiss you
for just a moment to feel
your breath and be quite close enough to
tease what's left of your innocence.

And through the years we'll saunter
hand in hand.

Affection (Apparitions)
---------------------------------
Departure of morning; just you and I, hand in hand;
talking, smiling,
unaware that we'd been dead.
For a long while we'd wandered,
claiming houses and their bread; through kitchens we sauntered
with antics to turn heads.
Our brilliance was not uncommon;
scratching on the walls,
hiding in closets,
and yet a simple thought surpassed
them all;
we've broken glass,
we've whispered calls,
but not yet had we used water --
slippery, warm, and guaranteed
to open a few eyes to the shower.
Mm', I remember the smile you gave me,
dizzy with your new-found power,
and later that afternoon, we
rented second floor for an hour.
Oh, the cries that came from downstairs,
(although no match to ours)
wondering, fretful of what was there;
how they ran about and cowered
and pulled out locks of hair.
We were busy with hands;
they were busy with fright,
until a visual command
asked to look to the right.
Through cellophane,
three sets of eyes,
three spectators slain
with our immense surprise.
Our supposed private domain
was ruled by poltergeists.
We'd received appraisal
for our creativity
and you backed down from arousal
and glowed so sheepishly.
I'd wondered how, with cellophane,
anyone had privacy.
Shaken, we'd return downstairs
to find the mistress in a corner;
(and the master on the patio gaining air)
somebody should have warned her
of the incoming chandelier,
that, of which, she scrambled to catch
to writhe about in a bloody mess.
"My God", you said, quite pale and stunned,
"talk about causing a genuine fuss."
The master roared into the dining room
and stared at the mistress in dismay;
must've been faulty construction;
better fetch the maid.

We spent that Tuesday evening
tearing up the bedroom.

Plasma Television
-------------------------
You wear those boots;
I wear these eyes;
there's nothing to lose
when you turn out the light.
You wear that flesh;
I wear this smile;
after the leather's short rest
it's fed again
to the starving child.
You wear those lacerations;
I wear these palms;
you strike down infatuation
and dress the dizzy doll.
You wear that soul;
I wear this heart;
You know
just where to go,
and I've got
the incentive to start.
Begin with the tenderness;
distorted, given heavily;
hands held on the carpet
no longer belonging to me.
You wear that mind;
I wear this body,
worth a lovely time
worth a bit of something.
Back against cold tile;
held captive by captivation
blamed on slippery minds
suffering from suds of anticipation.
You wear those hands;
I wear these fingers
watch the loaf naturally expand;
closer to victory it lingers.
Little drops of scalding water
crawling down my neck;
now's not the time to falter
but to pay your best respects.
You wear that charm;
I wear this tongue;
extend an arm
and shut that faucet off.
"No need for a towel
or a pesky housecoat",
you said, "and now we'll
take a piece of the floor."
Ah, but, sugar;
we've done this before;
the sun's looking quite inviting,
however,
and the grass is looking to score.
It doesn't matter if it's raining
or if there's anyone around;
I'll keep you smiling
without making a sound.
You wear those shoulders;
I wear these hips,
built to survive the smoulder
of tender fingertips.
Behold the Russian charmer
taming your Roman snake;
it doesn't bite
but it sure spits.
Behold the armor,
defensive in its make;
it'll surely rise
eagerly when awake.
There's an oven
missing its cake;
it desires some lovin'
today in the rain.
You wear that stare;
I wear these lips,
trembling fingers through my hair;
take in an impressive kiss.

Coming down with the rain;
I've never smiled so wide.

Short Note [Demo]
------------------------
Merry Christmas, my darling;
yea, I wish you were here
with these blue lights sparkling,
but you're in my heart, dear.
I suppose if I get this letter out
just in time, it'll see Christmas Eve;
it's too bad that a postman
can't bring you here, my darling.
Merry Christmas darling;
maybe next year, hm?
It's quite a perfect night;
I wonder if you're thinking of me
as I smile to myself and write
all the love I can't give physically.
Merry Christmas, my darling;
I don't have any money, y'know,
but I can give you my heart
if I can have yours, honey.
Merry Christmas, darling;
what you're after's on a platter,
silver and glittering,
and wishing you'd reach out an' grab 'er.
Somehow I got creative
in the aspect that innovation and charm
can saunter together arm in arm.
Somehow I can see you smirking
at my tell-tale casuality;
it's that charm that makes me
love you dearly.
Merry Christmas, darling.
I'm tending to my pastries,
but I wish you'd put some lovin'
in my oven;
I'm admiring the lights
plugged in so nice
and wishing you'd turn me on.
Ah, shame on me
to think of you so tenderly;
I see that grin on your face
because I'm that good with
physiognomy.
Merry Christmas, darling;
you should be content;
you've got my love.
I should be impressed
that I've given you my trust.
However, I've dragged this letter
on far enough to put you
right to sleep,
and I suppose I better
say that I love you
and sign this affectionately.

I've got you;
who could ask for more?

Momentary Speculation
---------------------------

Part One : Diversion.
------------------------
Because it is unfair
that the wind is allowed to whisper so,
I took a moment to sit there
staring out a broken window.
Although I had sat the whole night through,
I had forgotten the way
that (slinking, sneaking furtively .. like you)
the moon inevitably came out to play.
I'd reach out a hand to feel the energy
but the edges are still sharp,
staking their place as they'll always be
in the window long after dark.
Looking down on a glazed sidewalk
breathing under rhythmic footsteps,
everyone listens when it talks,
grasping blindly for the secret message.
I remember when the storm arrived,
took me by the hands, and
dragged me in with the tide.
It was a small portion of amusement,
sailing for a couple miles.
I wonder what happens when I close the door;
do things ease up, or is it just for show?
I'm finished with this chapter, my dear,
and it's time to let it go.
Somehow I found it easy to make things
more difficult than you intended;
readily come in like the dawn
and walk out like the dusk;
I was a queen for the European king.
Distant as it was, I often pretended;
while you yanked the leash you lynched me with
before the reasoning ended.
For a bit I prodded a broken glass,
cursing myself here and there,
but it's no use in seducing the past
and no use in believing that it cares.
For now I'm centering my attention
on an impoverished rose;
yes, and it was a winning selection,
but the hard part is watching it grow.
Of course, I'm aware that patience,
however brutal it may be,
always pays off in the end,
moreso for fortune than myself.
I wouldn't want it any other way;
having the chance to do things differently
gets me through each day;
just recently
did I discover a flame,
and I'm quite satisfied with the way
it dances across my flesh
without a single burn;
perhaps it is wise to cool it down
or I'll reap more than I earn.
Perhaps it is wise to sweep up the glass
before I start walking over it again,
because someday I'll find (at long last)
that there's another on my shelf.

Take hold of lust-laquered palms;
it's 4AM; where is the sun?


Part Two : Somewhat Sedate and Slightly Sultry
-----------------------------------------------------
Thought's been on my side;
frequent pieces produced diligently;
things that once fatigued my mind
have slowly slipped away from me.
Introspection has left me replenished;
retrospection has seldomly danced.
Thought's been such a darling,
leaving me done up and dazzled,
but I do confess, it's starting
to capture work and demand a battle.
Thought's been a lovely ride,
provokin gme to get intimate with the scenery;
others may say I'm wasting time,
but I choose to indulge in what pleases me.
Thought's been id-controlled,
sinful as it proves to be,
but it's something close to my heart that I hold
that fills desires while other demanding
factors consider themselves sold.
Why did I worry the way I did
when everything was fine?
I believe I've found a reason to live
for whatever I discover pacifies my mind.
Thought's been so in-depth,
meaningful and genuinely beneficial,
and yet I still have time to sell
although I appear to have very little.
Whatever makes me smile
is surely worth the while;
whoever's in my heart
helps to play the cards.
Thought's been so tender;
yes, enough to hold me tight;
it's my desire to surrender
when the time is right.
My inkpen's been my dear friend,
waltzing smoothly as I like;
if I'm lucky, it'll dance again,
'cause it makes me feel alright.

Thought's been a stroke of luck
licking at my fingertips.

Tomorrow
------------
Tomorrow
my hands will still be empty,
but my heart will be whole.
Tomorrow
you might tell me
that you love me so
because tomorrow's
looking brighter than usual,
and I'm feeling confident.
Tomorrow
my affection pays off.

Tomorrow
things won't be the same,
but with more meaning than today.
Tomorrow
I'll hold no secrets,
and I'll be at your mercy.
Before tomorrow
I'll arrange the pieces
and present this piece.

Attending my attention
for hours on end,
but never once mentioned
what I intended to suggest.
But tomorrow,
I promise to tell.

Will you smile for me
or disagree?
The reaction, I confess,
means everything.
I've taken off the gloves
to beat down the walls;
I'm ready to love
without flinching at all.
Tomorrow
I hope it's enough.

Tomorrow
please don't be withdrawn;
things should go smoothly.
Tomorrow
the caution will stop
and bleed from me;
tomorrow
the words fall from my lips
and signal through my fingertips.

Tomorrow
I'll hold my heart out and
make an offer like the fool I am.
Tomorrow
I'll hold out a hand
and expect one left.
I'm never sure about
the days to come,
but tomorrow
I'll be sure enough.

Trust me on this
just like anything else;
why suffer loneliness
when you can offer yourself?
Tomorrow
I'll give and ask for no less.

You give me something
nobody else could;
you give me something
I can look forward to.
You make me wonder just
what I mean to you;
tomorrow
I'll learn the truth.

You give me something
to think about,
but do you love me?
Mm .. tomorrow I'll find out.

Loving a thousand tomorrows
but one in particular;
which one will shine brightest
and provide a living cure?
I've got my foot in the door
and I'm curious now;
some things are hard to ignore
when they scream with such sound,
but tomorrow
I'll let it out.

Just wait awhile;
I swear I'll come through.
I'm not quite sure how to make you smile,
but somehow I do.
Tomorrow, try as I might,
I'll submit to you.

... Tomorrow nears
and I greet it lovingly ...

Dear Brother
-------------------
"Ah", you said
as if you understood;
y'know, it's fine to pretend,
but you have to be good.
"Yea", I said,
disappointed as usual;
When conversation's dead,
I speak against my will.
You gave a sigh
and I turned away;
sometimes you're blind
and sometimes you're great.
I smiled and dealt
a well-contemplated quip
and yet somehow felt
naturally unimportant.
You laughed briefly;
perhaps I made impact
or you're humouring me;
y'know, certainty lacks.
You waited awhile
before you told me a dirty joke;
you made both of us smile
but we still felt alone.
You told me of your sorrows;
I offered my care;
you were uncertain of tomorrow;
I knew it'd be there.
I offered a hug;
you bothered to turn away
because some kinds of love
are hopeless, you say.
You apologized;
it eased my mind a bit;
you've got me in a bind
but it's a pleasurable fix.
We discussed
recently and more than once
that when it's love,
it shouldn't be kept hush.
I took a hypocritical square;
how my head ached as we spoke,
because you were there
and you just didn't know.
Would it make you happy
or would you turn away?
The mental argument I'm having
makes me anticipate
the moment I'll say
I love you.

Like me, you are not
easily shocked
nor moved by much;
would you take me seriously
and treat it as such?
Do you think it's true
that you're the one I solely trust?
You can't help
but speculate,
but you might as well
hear me say
something you wouldn't expect.

Yea, I'm so smitten,
yet hard-to-get
like a little lost kitten
with claws extended.
Do you trust me quite enough
to be just as true
when I take off the kid gloves
and admit to loving you?

You knew it was coming
by the look of your smile.

Sociological Standardizing
---------------------------------
I wish
to push
a few buttons;
yea, make a
new adjustment;
fake a
positive judgment.
I wish
to fly
into the ocean
in my
psilocybin aircraft,
yea;
I wish
to reach
for a fist
to beat
the shit
out of normalcy.
Darling,
did you know
comformity's
gotta go;
Sugar,
have you seen
the other
side of dreams?
Yea,
here comes
the clowns;
they run
to drag
the party down.
All fifty
thousand
dressed
in red;
all
comformists
with no heads

Mental Tresspasser
-----------------------
I know you dance in my unconscious;
yea, doing the mashed potato on my mind.