Monday 1/24/2011 12:19:00 AM

the fruit is anxious. the tongue even more so. to taste. swallow the both the meat and the skin. steal from the vine. delicate flowers sweet with morning's dew. and thorny roses wet with the blood of admirers.

her thighs ripen regardless of sun. blossoming full and wide. a sun bursting from an eggshell. the soft yellow center thickening to the heat of touch. each moment arranged. a library of lovers. to scribble on her costume. as she discards her mask.

an army with empty guns. vultures hungry for the dead. not killing. just taking what the killing has left.

the sun might yet rise again, but even if it doesn't. i will remember.

the dirty bandages we used to cover our wounds. the apples that convinced. paradise was not enough.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.