It is an orphaned desire.
Sickened by the halfmoon dew
on my lip stained verse
half awaiting perhaps -
the heal on scrapped knees.
Did you, did you ever see the words lisp?
Your own words -
breathing in my vaporous syntax
frozen in the nights of skinny details.
Indeed they were yours
will remain only yours -
Making love to the cliffs and folds
of the endless sky,
to the steel grey gun of a steely resolve.
Can i ask?
Did you ever feign love, then or now?
Each time those reluctant tears well up
Those sharp tearing fingers scrap the throat
Can i ask then,
Could you possibly feign it enough?
It is a mild smell on my skin -
Lazy and reluctant whispers of fragrances.
Cut deeper, much much deeper
Let the blood cleanse
Cut deep enough to leave a gap.
A wide yawn in that thesaurus full of desires
A skinny limb to those yellow, fading branches.
Empty the trash cans
the nothing-something stains, marks.
Cut and scrape.
And at last collapse
with a tired thud.
Totally totally destroyed.