This Month

February.
She's such a nice lady
or perhaps maybe
Just a callous bitch
by which
I mean to say
Hello and hey
Could you or would you please
Not ruin my day
Rain on my parade
For you see, Ms. Lady, I'm on a crusade
A glorious escapade
righteous mission
Now, please
Pick a different position, pise or posture
Something nice and enticing, get flexible
I need you loose, just you know, fair warning
One you roll around, we're gonna fuck till the early morning.

Cyan Prince

My first glimps of him.
Tucked away in a room of strangers.
The hair was a beacon.
Perhapse it glowed
the halo just above
Hidden from my eyes
Reflected in the locks
Pulling my eyes to him.
Perhapse I should introduce myself?
I was introduced to the golden kid, and there
Listening to the shy tones of his voice
I saw something in him.
Hits of personality I'd discover later
Foreshadowing illuminated by his smile.
Or maybe I just liked the way he looked at me
Eyes inquisitive
Quite flattering.
And if indeed time and setting were merely options
If the stage could be changed.
I could see this young man, this bright eyes peach
This darling boy
As royal in room of nobels.
A gathering of merchant lords and honored intellectuals
Gather here today to trade wit and dry humor
The topic being the duldrums of life.
In the middles, flowing between conversations
Would be him, the Cyan Prince.
The gathering and pageantry his playground.
I, a man of purple persuasion
would still be drawn to his glow
And indeed our voices would paint a friendship
On the canvis we casually refer to as life.

Everchanging reflection

One morning I wake and see a boy I hate
His sad eyes reflecting back at me in the mirror
A dull, dim witted gaze scanning for direction
Under differ circumstances
If moments were replayable
Each with different chances
Someoutcomes sevens
Others snake eyes
I'd gut this kid in the mirror
For neck to thighs
Bath I his ashes, fresh from the kindling
Grind them
Make a pigment
Symbolic sentament
From this grey I'd color a mask
Wear it night, dance on the boys grave
Wake to find a new man in the mirror
This one handsome and strong
The curves of his chin witty and mysterious
His voice soothing and deep
I'd love his man till the end of my day
Bury myself in his grave, just an inch to the left.
I'd rise from the grave late that night
Walk home, go to bed delirious
Wake up the next morning and see the person I am
My reflection as mystery.

Deeper into the well we go.

  Ah yes
Here are
Down a well
How deep, how far
Does this pit go?
Don't know, can't say.
Seems the hole gets twenty yards deeper
Every single day.
I'd say
That it looks man made
Hand crafted
But why?
If I'd wager a guess
Judging from the sounding mess
The perpetrator
instagator
The architect
Dug this hole himself
Why I wonder
Why indeed
Most would have no need
No use for
The pit of pathetic
Sadistic
Malicious
Self made
Self doubt
Built from the finest bits of leftover selfesteme
Painstakingly hollowed out, to no end
No rock bottom to hit
Just dive in and fall
Wake to the sun, dried up on the ground
Pit to your right
Feeling down, champ?
Jump back in.

Superheroes

I recall the first
Discovered in my youth
Stuck in the house
Fog so thick your eyes chocked
I saw him on the screen
Red cape, blue tights
Faster then a train, leapt tall heights
Mezmorized, I watched him battle
Men of evil, corrupt wrong doers, vicious monsters
Other pantheons appeared
A pride of catmen and women, crusading against
The Everliving
A man discovering
Through great tragety 
The power of responsibality
A league of Gods
Masquarading as men
Showing us the power of the human
Defeating the dregs of the inhuman 
I saw the future, some alternate for good
Some bad, some obtomistic fantasies
Others half-empty nightmares
In all of this gospel, be it composes on the TV screen
Or crafted in trade paperback
The end result 
A bible, tailor made for my wonders
Inspiring me, day to day
Still I see them
Heros.

Nostalgic Cocktails

Woke up drubk on nostalgia of days long gone.
My dreams sreved the drinks.
First  Shot
A cold day
we're bundeled up
smiling at each other
a joke leads to a kiss, leads to sweet sleep.
Second Shot
mix with a hit of bitter remorse
we argue, fight, reconcile, fight again
you cut yourself off
I wonder when i'll see you again
I walk the the long cobbled halls of regret
Wondering when i'll see you again
Wondering what went wrong
Then my luck changes
I find you locked up in my car
half awake, my cheeks perk
ears get warm
eyes ache, throat fills
I could cry, but I wanna stay cool
keep my mask up
so I jump in the driver side
we reconcile over dinner
Third shot
you in a bikini
forth shot
we share a room, impossibly hot
Fifth shot
reprisal of the former
Sixth shot
reprise again
Seventh, Eighth, Ninth, Tenth shots
Hands through hair, clawed backs, fangs in necks
eleventh shot
we ride, through some town I can't recall
on some night I half remember
you turn to me, I kiss you on the head
morning comes
Hangover for breakfast.

Moonlit Canvis

Coming through
the pages of
my piecemeal memory
I see shapely hips
captivating me
subliminally  winding
and binding and twisting
the fibers of my desires
drips of sweat dance around
our newfound embrace
passions perspire, as I
or rather as we
see one another
through the fileter of
the silver slivers of sight
and kiss goodnight.