imagery through words.

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Cigarette Lips

Cherry red lipstick
cigarette smoke
filling my eyes

and the tambourine heart
rattles while
the hips shake

to the sound of the blues
and motown
and words spoken like soul.

I can taste all over
that cherry wide eyed
body in motion

as you inhale
and then I inhale
and we share this

dancing like soldiers
under the moon lit
pavements of our street

rapidly inhaling
tasting those succulent
cigarette lips.

A dress fit for a queen
and a suit
made for a king

the lion and lioness
roaring at the jungle
beneath their clawing paws

tearing away
there is no more to tear

and the music
kept playing on
that motown sound

and we shake our hips
with cherry flavored
cigarette lips.



I can’t find myself situated,
even after I have pleaded my case.
It seems like I am the enemy in every eye,
it seems that way.

When I had it all to give,
I was left empty.
So much to give,
so very much.

broken bottles,
a broken mind.

And now I sit in my own trashed world,
when I wanted nothing more
than a small ounce
of love.

I was ready,
steady feet planted to the ground,
my emotions at sway,
I was ready.

It’s hard to let loose
knowing you are the enemy.

All the excitement
turns against the spirit,
but this pain
is silent heroism.

An enemy of weak,
a romantic struggle.
A caged lover in shackles,
desperate to break free.

this fabrication of love,
an ongoing hallucination.

Accuse me,
it’s the right thing to do.
I am only a prisoner of your speculation
unwillingly so.

I am the enemy,
against you,
against them,
against myself.

All I ever wanted
was an ounce of love.

Posing In The Flat Field

Under the shade of a red sky,

I’m reminded of the immaculate

warmth that is on the other side,

with the sun as piercing as her smile –

heaven’s smile that remains splintered

under the skin.


Even the ocean can flower

the air, and leave the sky

patched with tearful clouds

that persist itself seasonally,

as if the seconds held another brand new season,

and this void becomes more real.


The leather of my skin

Can only keep you so warm,

And yet so elegantly pressed,

But your satisfaction makes

You colder and more crude.


The motor of heaven ceases

To continue without your attention,

and it listens to your soft words of prayer

as it bleeds through you in weakness.

And to whomever your prayer reaches,

still the two heavens know

of the broken

face that is unworthy to mend.