Verbal Stains

Should I conquer you in slow steps

Or a swift stroke of metal suffice?

You are my muse and my sculpture,

The reason of dried blood on my back.

The lines of passions drawn

By your pale hungry nails,

And mistress to an artist above you.

It is my intention to have you

By sleight of hand or otherwise,

Any means possible or even contrary.

I am waging a war on my own self

Unnecessarily to have you at once.

I know it can be easily avoided

For you are not worth a pittance.

However word uttered from my lips

Carries both clout and concealment.

So tell me my dearest

Would you like to come in pieces

Or should I order a king sized bed?

Priestess

I will come to love you
Without reasons or annotations;
The corners of our pages
Folded as if in prayer.

I will suck the pleasure
From your toes;
My tongue, your hostess
For the evening.

I will write notes of love
On your bare back;
My palms steady
In the rhythm of our pace.

I will lose language
To communicate:
My body broken
By your love.

I will plant kisses
With aching gentleness:
Your moist secrets
Quivering like a bow.

I will quench us both
An oasis in sand;
My hands cupping
The folds of your flesh.

I will break your will
To restraint and to shy;
Awaken the desire
To be violently consumed.

I will come to love you
Without reasons or annotations;
A long dark shadow of the night
Inconsolable with your want.

Snip

Little red drops pricked

By a needle; intertwined

With opium from lands

Far away.

Reduced to ash and

Charcoal dust; a fever 

Slowly consuming his

Broken memory.

A once-upon-a-time

Prince; now reduced

And refused words

Themselves.

An Artist in Doubt

Always you wrestle within me,
Pouched bile within my heart;
Each splintering away mercilessly.
Fluttering reels in an antique theater
Playing on lives imagined and forgotten,
Of dialogues painfully extemporized
Encouraging celluloid fantasies.

Always you wrestle within me,
An angry mob of artistic perspectives;
Exquisitely sculptured to fathom us apart.
A watercolor in making,
Washed away by salty excesses of sea.
Panoramic emotions sweep past visual ghettos,
A future envisioned by crippled destinies.

Always you wrestle within me,
Choleric symphonies of maddening silence;
By conductors of lost, unwritten music.
Tainted by cryptic musical notations
To be drowned by daiquiris,
In company of withered, loving harlots;
Singing me to sleep in a burning jazz bar.

Always you wrestle within me,
Simmering dust on a butterfly's wing;
Half broken and perhaps half mended.
Capable of tempestuous tornadoes
In the bittersweet passions of our love,
Now burlesqued by our indifference;
Serving as a cautionary tale to memory.

Always you wrestle within me,
Fragrances from perpetual nights;
Smeared with my sex on limp bodies.
The blood ridden cycles every month
Of your womanly sex: only indicator,
Of passion that was never meant to be.
Existential after every contraction.

Always you wrestle within me,
Cascades of soft murmurs;
Your voice laced with my name.
Denying denial itself a chance
To redeem through a prickly heartbreak.
Pluck me apart, from the roots,
Of your heart: my cancerous cells.

Always you wrestle within me... 

Beginnings

There is decadence in my soul tonight

A wretched desire to break free

Of ghastly human limitations,

To call upon all that has slept for long

Move my fingers on its limbs 

Arousing the numbed, mumbling away beauty

Of hokey hearts and forgotten times.

Hazy images from a prince's memory

Not worthy of present punctuation 

Or capital crowns; shall and indeed

Grow to be long loved by his own heart.

Words, words; he could go on forever

Seducing his own pliable memory.

It is indeed a Grecian love knot,

Worthy of at least a lost poem.

Exorcism Of A Tired Man

The soles of my feet are tired
Carrying you around the world
Time to say goodbyes
Because I want to smile again.

An Enquiry Into Madness

I carved her face with an artist's knife
But artist's don't carry knives!, exclaimed the writer
Well I do but I'm not an artist; yet.
O permit me digressions
Or not.

I loved her face
Even more than her sex!
Astonished and flummoxed
I checked my tools
Things were fine
I pictured her breasts,
But I remembered her face
This delighted me.

With her
I only wanted her face
What a lovely one it was
It was?
It is.
I still have the face carved
And pasted on my damp ceiling
Damp with sweat and chemicals
Why, of course, to preserve it!

So I carved her face
And buried her body
So I carved her face
As it was
And mine it was!
I now wear her face
And move among crowds.

Lucky bastard they call me.
And how I'm glad!
To forever have that face.

Loss

Some beginnings have no endings
While some seem forever to end.
My love for you oscillates between the two
My love, if I can call it mine
Seems as alien to me as it does to you.
I have loved you with all that I am
And with all that I perhaps may never be,
But with the tremblings of time, my love
I have ceased to exist,
And so have you, for me.

Love In The City

Stained sheets of red
Garnished with pieces of flesh
A tangle of entangled hairs
A spot of your dried spit
Two cracked brown nails
And the inescapable insatiable
Stench of your broken body.

Crumpled by my side
Moaning at the moonlight
From cracked windows
A shiver down your spine
Moving at a snail's pace
The blue red of your lips
Arousing my tepid form.

Would they shout murder
Or call it my love affair.

Angel And Angel

Don't cry, my daughter, your Daddy's near
By your side, whispering in your ear.
I know you loved your Mama too much,
But now she's gone. our life is such.
She called you pretty and combed your hair
Watched over you and helped you with the stairs.
I want you to know Daddy loved her too,
Sometimes less but sometimes even more than you.
Now your Mama is gone and Daddy is alone
His eyes are red and hollow is his tone.
Your Mama will always watch over us
Tuck us into bed without any fuss.
Now my daughter, don't you cry
I'll make you smile, till eternity I'll try.
My dearest daughter, you should know
You are like her, cheeks as white as snow.
Your Daddy too remembers her all the time
But he must be strong and sing songs that rhyme.
For he has his little angel to take care of now
Whose smile lights up skies and everyone says 'Wow'.
Hush, little one, don't you cry
Daddy is there by your side.......