a grown up sort of piece:::::
the fire you lit burns cold as the moon
a wave of rich purple surges in my chest
rising tendrils of the Snake goddess writhing
chartreuse masques poisonously lovely
piercing kisses devouring my ravenous marrow
:::loitering under a downpour of broken neon
::::waiting by some mystic barroom door
when you walk in wearing that crimson silk sheath dress
slit to thigh:::ladders climbing black fish-net hose
your glance as pointed sharp as your stiletos
I feel the muscles in my back flex inside a midnight cotton t-shirt
aching for the scratches of those pearl lacquered nails
my hips cant into the spell cast by your shadows portrait
imagining your hands undoing the button at my waist
peeling the fabric down:::down::down:::::::::::::::::::::::::::
feeling you near until I am breathing the perfume of your soft white skin
immaculate pale complexion blush with city blood and a tincture of sin:::
a faint voice in my ear, whether an instinct for survival, a vestige of conscious
either seems trivial, tiresome, irrelevant in your presence I am losing form
finding the Tempest in your eyes and the path that leads to a drink and a bed
where hunger feeds itself until:::I,
am become this half man half monster this creature of wary abandon
of recklessness and ferocious caution to burn
the fire you lit
cold as
the Moon::::::::
Poetry by jesse
Read 447 times
Written on 2007-01-23 at 17:48
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Cold As The Moon
the fire you lit burns cold as the moon
a wave of rich purple surges in my chest
rising tendrils of the Snake goddess writhing
chartreuse masques poisonously lovely
piercing kisses devouring my ravenous marrow
:::loitering under a downpour of broken neon
::::waiting by some mystic barroom door
when you walk in wearing that crimson silk sheath dress
slit to thigh:::ladders climbing black fish-net hose
your glance as pointed sharp as your stiletos
I feel the muscles in my back flex inside a midnight cotton t-shirt
aching for the scratches of those pearl lacquered nails
my hips cant into the spell cast by your shadows portrait
imagining your hands undoing the button at my waist
peeling the fabric down:::down::down:::::::::::::::::::::::::::
feeling you near until I am breathing the perfume of your soft white skin
immaculate pale complexion blush with city blood and a tincture of sin:::
a faint voice in my ear, whether an instinct for survival, a vestige of conscious
either seems trivial, tiresome, irrelevant in your presence I am losing form
finding the Tempest in your eyes and the path that leads to a drink and a bed
where hunger feeds itself until:::I,
am become this half man half monster this creature of wary abandon
of recklessness and ferocious caution to burn
the fire you lit
cold as
the Moon::::::::
Poetry by jesse
Read 447 times
Written on 2007-01-23 at 17:48
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
|
|
salem |
