5/4/19

Looking glass,

Reflected faces,

The backwards of my grin,

Is this what you see?

No sincerity to grace lips,

Just red flesh to imprison passion,

No, passion is emotion,

And there is a cold stare in my eyes,

Maybe lust?

Lust is the

Disembodied disposal and use of bodies.

At the purse of the lust licked lips,

Worlds have crashed.

His, hers, mine, yours.

Listen fools,

To the snap of water logged fingers,

Summoning a tune of jazz,

A spell that's pulling you along...

The saxophone in my hand,

Oddly resembles a

Black fountain pen.

The notes from the bell

Sound like the whisper

Caught in the wind,

Churned in the hydraulic,

Of one last 'I love you',

Only it couldn't be,

Because the arpeggio of my heart is

Carpeted stairs,

The top one slightly taller than

The rest.

Tripped toe,

Tipped toe,

Tip-toes.

But the fall is soft,

The drowning is warm,

The dying is kind.

Distracted driver,

Highway speed chase,

Why follow me so closely?

Why parade behind me

Along this road

With your blue strobe light?

My music is not loud enough

For the world to join in,

But I dance.

Distracted driver

In drive-by-feel car.

The windshield reflected

-Like a looking glass,

A pair of bottle cap lenses,

A fish bowl for a skeleton-

Faces with emptying eye sockets.

My tears flowing into your eyes.

A backwards grin,

Turning to a right-side-up

Frown.