pink vapor rises
my feet grind to the wild song
we howl hard at love
Madam Wong’s
my Paul
just tonight can we stare at the lamp lights
gleaming on the surface of the puddles in the street
tonight ange triste will you stand still
so as to peer upon your waifly silhouette
without it floating from my bandaged hands
can i be your Paul and place my ear atop your heart
and etch in little kisses i love you on the
renegade palpitations there about
tonight no wine no smokes no laughing hard
no sucker punches no living the life no mosher pits
no altered minds
just a little silence with you ange betwixt my arms
instead of me amidst your legs
you don’t always have to run away scared little bird
pecker and picker of my nerves and priestess of my vacuumed
universe
one time before i leave and i lose you to the vampires
complication
tempt
me now
your raw heat
on my begging
lips tickle softly scrape my skin with your
chin take your fingers pulse them low inside
let’s look away
nothing lost
when the
heart
is
broken
tossed in the
rain of remorse
pelvis to pelvis we dance on the floor
desperately clinging to whatever
we should forsake
to avoid
being
loved
unlike Joanie and Chachi
the side of your salty neck
was black with my eyeliner
your purple nails tore at my back
while i tried to pull down my pants
you had insisted on wearing your dad’s kilt
to a Circle Jerks recital
and with breathless whispers we gave up
i pulled up and you pulled down
but as a consolation prize
you let me grope your jockey ass
as the first riff of
“I just want some skank” started
alternative ending
a wishing well
the red door smokey
music of any generation blares
curtains coil in the caress of night
the sunken eyes cheeks moist with the dew
truth you are a liar gospel im lying to myelf
regrets im sure the devil had some scorn ive had my share
smoke puff he loves me ash flick he loves me not
clinking glasses last call some hearts stutter
can i bum a cigarette another asks halo moon
bamboo jade blackflag germs window mirror
fleeting time biting nails taxi drive
the way of good intention blocked
to the tunnel one more time
flick flick flick shoot
i guess i love me not
tiny dust bowl doll
what a waste of the moon
what a waste of the moon.
she hangs there brightly,
excitedly laughing,
waiting for you and i to kiss.
i look at her with an apologetic smile looking nervously
at the door to open.
i don’t want to hurt her.
i really wish you could see the beam of love in her face.
what a waste of the fragile moon.
who like me hangs there in the empty stage of the night, broken.
wishing you would someday beam for me.
words less spoken 