webnography

the interlocution of love is stamped
with objections, ridiculed in the face of a reality that nudges its nose into the fabric of time.
your mind, complacant as it is with the shape and texture of narcissistic redemption, unfurls at the first breath of blossoming. The unruly, white-bearded gentleman raises a single question in the crinkle of an eyebrow:
WHAT WOULD YOU DO TO KEEP ME FROM KILLING YOU?
(i’d live for that) he replied.
Your ventricles are atrophying.
I am recommending electroconvulsive shock therapy,
and a behavioral modification program
get with
(it.)

a redeemed and unscripted act-
it floats unspoken, lingers in between
the silences of conversation.
a heat. a spark.
flicker on, beautiful creature!
how you groom me with your ecstasy,
crumple my pain,
sprinkle it to the wind-
the air that sings in the
pulsing sky
hug the earth and wonder why
i don’t even know my own head,
scratch at the surfaces of things unsaid.
(bite the air and hope
for a single note
to settle in my throat)
now kiss you gentle, bite you hard,
exist suspended in a chrystal shard.
this is my softest touch.
this is my searching gaze.
all is full of love,
we number our days.