Oceans On Slips of Paper Fried Like Skin

Servants of pleasure polish the crown. Potent orphans create the ladder she falls down. Away from the fire they tell her. Away from the flames. But the costume fits better in this inferno. Its skin becomes mine. Seeds exploring. Harmonies of skin. Pales symphonies in the operas of my life. Cicero's composing their women. Cyrano's pretending to know them.

It's like every fairy tale. Happy endings in stern resolve. The war to win the battle. The Hero unwilling to eat the apples on the ground.

We are the bible. Eden undone. We are the beginning of the world. And the end of it. Like every song wants to be.

The commas in her bra punctuating sentences he'd yet to speak. The colon in her pants waiting for someone to finish the thought.

She's just a woman. Lost in a sea of men. Swimming toward a shore she'll never reach.