Again

When it comes
to baring oneself,
there are always

plenty of
words, no
guarantees.One
always loves

more than
the other.
The high, then
the sinking

Feeling
in the pit of
your tummy.

Every thing becomes
nothing. Words are
sludge on a wall of

old vines that pierce
and twist into
the heart time
and time
again.

creeper

i peer through the lattice
hot breath beneath the misty reflection

and there you are,
bun and bathrobe
type-type-typing away

i shake with glee
at the thought of
extracting your eyes
one by one
though I don’t have a clue as to what color they are

no matter. I am sure they will make
a lovely garnish in
a well-mannered dirty martini
to sip while you simmer
thrashing for me to stir you up