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I can’t do it anymore because it doesn’t mean anything,
just take it from me and I’ll be satisfied,
put the drinks on the tray and walk towards me,
left foot after right and you know the way I see,
like this,
like that,
it’s wholesome enough for my work to be displayed.
Kinky boots don’t take the orange away,
juxtaposition doesn’t make it smart.
Know that the tubes inside your mind are dwindling,
deadly enough and so far near the wall
that the pictures remind us of who we are and those that are
deceased.
Sit by my side and caress my knee,
touch the hair upon my nape,
jab your heels into my jugular then remind me to make you tea.
By the way you look I’d say forty
or fifty,
patterned in my purse your fingerprint,
holding up to the light figures of younglings.
Immense turning and folding will not make a better day.
Tear out the article because it’s not yours.
Give it back to whom it belongs.

These pages are empty.
Pour the resonating olive juice onto them
and watch them merge.
Come into light and use some foreplay.
Just foreplay.
Mimic the ever-flowing precedence.
Cut the candle in half –
give one to the poor fellow who keeps trying.
Wipe his tear – he doesn’t mean to.
Lick the next.
Taste the salt.
This train is ahead and will leave
them all behind.
Slide your hand in the sand.
Say the name softly.
Imagine it wasn’t heard.
Say my name again for me.

Thinking of her;
He could never let her go.
From mind to her mind.
Try as they might,
And they did try,
They couldn’t stop.
Ran through his mind,
Crawled through life.
They will never be.

Now it’s easy.
Today they’re sharp.
Think of the other,
Never forget.
Standing by her in his mind.
Up close.
Hold her one more time.
Just once more.
So, she can see what isn’t hers.
Pray to let them be.