Friday, February 28, 2014

This Traction

Tousled, barely contained, falling friendly over careless eyes
But then this arch as the unconscious raises
and lifts an entire face upwards, toward that
mass of ideas and possibilities and finger snares
two, no, four, no a row of teeth flush out and lay
exposed and wet and ringed in lips defined and
curling, curving, living,
matching the folds and creases and lines around those eyes

Hooks, like barbs, this flesh this meat so hung up
So now torn, because a moment of kindness gives so easily
over to lingering cues and table clearing eyes
and I just don't know if any of it is real
Or the price of my imagination has gone so far up
What do you give away, each time, each day
to be some reason, some cause, some thing
Another person might use this time, some time
to bring a little heat and twitch to their life?

Yes, yes, you are very damned hot, and gorgeous, and blond
I know, I know it's not what you are, it's who you do.
Of course, of course this is all about ownership
Nothing you do is not without payment
But I'm irrevocably a scoundrel, an awful sort of man
You see I have nothing to offer, no credit with which to pay
My heart is set on its course and rolls down tracks
Well laid

Only the flesh is weak.

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Is this wise?
Is this yours?
Is this love?

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