January 2010
3 posts
Come to me night temptress,
Clad in heavy robes of damson velvet,
Come fuel my fire,
Come quench my tongue with acid,
Set my skin ablaze with your iron brand,
And never ever leave.
Auto-pilot vs a flight captain’s new wings. One is parroting. The other needs not be said. Flying high, swooping and soaring and loop-the-looping. And same as it ever was. Ostriches don’t actually bury their heads in the sand so insert another metaphor here. And repeat unspoken words until they explode your head.
There is a glut of words. I am gluttony. But she is too much of a whore...
You are that sheet ice that I fumble my way across. Slipping and sliding and gasping as I fall. You are that pure white snow tumbling from the heavens. You are that burning sunrise, and that mellow sunset. You are nipping at my fingertips, edging me home to warmth. You are these days, you are.