calypso

“there came a day

the fiery red lips

decorating the lord’s bed

were caught slyly pouting

at the butler”, described

the watchmaker

“and the triumphant servants 
broke into a boisterous roar”

#

i tread along your eyelid, over tears for boulders

tattoo nation

scraping those wounds

must become a habit;

unless, you are better

at narrating stories

from the past.

then, it is

scars you must go for

#

I will sleep for you

dream your dream

take the pain away

#

i wrote this in slow mo

#

a loafer of a bread

flippant desires

you lead me to a place

I have been before

only now

my beard excites the trolls

and they remain

tempting as ever

#

scaredscarredsacred

the lakehouse

when the pendulum swings

disproportionately to the

settling sand

dimensions of space

aren’t linear no more

you only have a split second

to decide where you ought to be

#

wrapping her in cellophane

kills me with the noise

#

the suddenness of you is unbearable on my skin

the prophecy

of toothless smiles and broken embraces

unaccounted miles and lost traces

on a country road by a tree

waiting for Godot

they must be warned

cacaphony

spending measured nights, awake

strumming life's unproportionate segments

albeit leisurely

haute couture

buttoned up to the top

with precious little stones

embellishing the cuff

and additional strip of cloth

securing the neck

is not what I signed up for,

protests the boy

scampering around

in torn boxers, just.

#

accusing a flippant heart, convenience is underplayed

role play

screw your fantasy, she said

you do not play me well

and it is uncomfortable being you

source code

his fingers

move

like magic

through clay clumps

dumped on

spinning wheels

does he though

bake them 

at their best..

or his?

play III

under her lips

his beard tickles

over his

her fragrance settles

spoken words

know no place

no more

baise moi

the cape’s been stitched

to fit your size

cans of spinach

dumped in your cherry-topped van

mushrooms, in dozens

tucked in the pocket of your weathered overcoat

why, we dare you save her world!

the cottage

to the left

a sofa

scarred of whiskey and cigars

and copious moments

rather concealed

to the right,

the exquisite scream

adorning the wall

else bare

mostly

behind,

a chimney

smoking

of chicken breasts

crackling on the stove

ahead,

an unlatched wooden door

greeting the long winding road

to nowhere