features and faith fade
color of my lips brilliance of my eyes
but your touch haunts me
features and faith fade
color of my lips brilliance of my eyes
but your touch haunts me
to want you to kiss my mouth hungry like a starving dog deep inside the tendrils of time perhaps inside of Tutankhamun’s tomb where he laid wrapped in magic to want you to look in me and search with your fingers like a carpenter looks for nails in an old rusty Folgers tin that looks much like my heart to want to breath you in like when you turn and give a final glance at a coffin’s bouquet of roses of your fallen enemy to want to scratch and dig my woman’s claws into your back as your masculine identity fucks my sad out to want to possess the honesty of a very small child to want to have the courage to do a lot of things and in the midnight sky when my eyes upturn alone i catch a snippet of the music of Shakespeare’s heavenly spheres that only the angel’s can hear
last night i hung out with Jimmy and Janis
and in the shower i sang about foxy Kentuckians
not sure if it meant anything at all but yet can’t help to daydream about his guitar and her vocal chords
making coffee the feeling persisted why am i still here
just feelings i guess no need to worry the squirrels are in the tree the sidewalk exists from what i can tell
i do an LOL i’ve kissed the ground so many times with my ball and chain gang of personal fools
could it be that it truly is just semantics me wonders whilst the refuse truck crawls by on Thursday morning

she thrived optimally when lost in LA
salty sassy loose and Catholic tube top wearing even on cold days
mother of three husband gone missing foul play by the finest in town
she talked back and took what you had with scorn and laughs
yet in the sun light at the plaza when traffic is quiet beggars and convicts safe in their bags
she fed the pigeons ever so delicately threw breadcrumbs at them not like a DiMaggio but like a Pavlova
then they were fed no more
morning sweet grass grows
nature covers it with life
we are born once more
you know the time is nigh
you won’t need anything
would you agree
yes i’m prepared
while we travel can i tell you
how i loved the cool walks
the strong espressos and
the smell of fresh baked croissants over at Figaros
and when i was young
i loved the life that was
fast hard strong and brutal
was that when you felt invincible
Azrael asked
i suppose i didnt really feel anything
can i tell you about all of the beautiful people
dressed in all the colors and walk
step by step
and the children
they the true celestial thousand points of light multiply in God’s eyes forever
did you incur any regrets after all you’re just a human Azrael reminded
time lost revelling in my hatred and my pain first of self then of my nature of my sins and my enemies my inability for many years to feel with all of me
and seeing that i was about to cry Azrael lifted me with warmth and ease as my last breath sweet with smells of incense drew from me a soul unique and we clasp hands into the light of eternity
it starts off by an off beat Gregorian chant afternoon belly bloated with heat reruns of Felix the Cat on TV in his past there is a cave maybe he will have to retrace his steps there upon death as they say drool found on his face they gossip abscess on his left leg old black leather shoe scuffed Cuban heel by an original LP cover of the BeeGees to love somebody the irony thick as his moustache neighbor woman ratted red beehive hair hail to the Virgin Mary cat lady eye liner black lipped chiquita vampira cried to the fuzz that she’d gone to check on him on account they fucked every two months navy blue jeans creased to cut cement Pendleton blue white and gray cigarette burn holes fourth button missing from bar scuffle at Footsies last May Fruit of the Loom classic wife beater still stained with the blood of his grandfather a beloved heirloom his Marine days led him astray in the tunnels of the mind alphabet soup G issued pharm cocktailed with torture death and some bombs upon closer inspection Det. Mullen said he has a tattoo with the name of Belinda on his left breast and the cross con safos por vida mark on top of his right hand directly above the thumb crippled by a Derringer at the sweet age of twelve tomorrow was supposed to be the visit between he and his estranged MIT son who goes there on a scholarship won Joaquin had planned to gift him a gold plated LeCross and his Purple Heart medal for enduring a three year involuntary vacation for his country at the Hanoi Hotel
Thanks to Susi and I want to encourage everyone to send Susi your work have a great Friday ❤
Photo by luizclas on Pexels.com
dishonest
beige
irate
hidden well
within myself
smile rejoice believe
reverberate inside
deeply bury sorrow’s babe
float through imagined normal life
ignore the toxic warnings to be
honest with my pain and let it fly free
to kiss me
silent warm spirit
icy wet sweet poison pot
draw those thoughts from me
fulfillment
aging hand unfolds
soft palm up to the skyline
caressing her past
M. Brazfield is a Gen X’er born and raised in Los Angeles, California. She is an untrained writer and enjoys sharing her work on her blog WORDS LESS SPOKEN on Word Press. Her inspiration comes from life in Los Angeles, particularly Downtown.

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