Monday, December 19, 2011


We wait for crises to salvage our loves:

I want you, but I can’t let myself have you
Like Babylonian lovers, we end and begin like
A phoenix, forever in descent,
He wonders why she couldn’t be there; away but -
Only a few inches further, salt and sapphire
And raindrops clinging to wintery windows,
A green light across the river.

An accidental virgin with skin of Peridot,
For artists whose paintings are instruments of war.
Political things, helplessly conscious
Of heart breaks and passion and
Things that can’t be conquered like.
Her -
She’s crying inside.
She’s crying, not weeping. Go help her -
Go make her stop, go tell her some lie.
Oh, Jesus -
She’s crying inside again.
Go make her stop.

But wait –
First girlsdon'tthinkofsex. No, no, no -
First kisses; they change everything,
Your smell of smoke and too much perfume
Nothing will remain in its right place.
Oh, just a few inches closer
Her taste of salt and sapphire
And raindrops clinging to wintery wonders.
Her taste, of green lights across the river.

What is it with men and wet hair?


  1. "For artists whose paintings are instruments of war.".........

    I clicked on your blog this morning and saw the new post. I usually Open your blog in a new window and keep minimizing it for about 3-4 times before having the heart to read it. After I finished reading this, a long pause followed. My steamy cup of coffee went cold and I didn't realize it. Can words be as disastrous as drugs ? ...

  2. "We wait for crises to salvage our loves "

    Incredible doesn't even begin to define the stuff you've written.
    Its not just for Guns N'Roses to move me so.

  3. I've run out of eloquent and suitable adjectives for your posts.
    Each syllable pierced me like the ragged shards of a silent,shattered mirror. My heart stopped for a while there.