at M. Wong’s

pink vapor rises

my feet grind to the wild song

we howl hard at love

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.