Danger, she makes strange bed fellows.
There are no atheists in fox holes, they say.
But I was one.
I need no God to die today.
Or to love.
Or do with my hands,
What most attempt with vain word.
Of paper figures.
I lost once in a bottle what a priest uses achieves in a prayer; never saw, only heard.
Vodka is more inviting than the priests anyway.
Safer also to have children around.
I believe I was a child around you once or twice.
But it was short lived, adulthood was swiftly found.
To have met you in Penza, eleven years ago;
I might have made your journey more, hospitable. Based on what you say.
“Would have’s” are everyone’s favorites.
Everyone is alive with regret in this city today.
There is no could have, only the will do imaging the before times.
You lies and your truths eviscerate me, vivisect my joint.
The only think I know how do well in a kitchen,
Is cook, and fuck you at knife point.
Albeit, simply; my love for you is twofold;
You are voluptuous and stunning, you’re total hear of darkness, you’re hot,
And then you’re quite cold.
For my love or my own belly I can do much, I liked your arms around my neck, I liked your grab of meat inside my jeans, I need you clutch.
You and I it seems have lived a life of night!
We’ve slept out in the exposure cold, fell asleep out outbound trains, the story you painted, it was bold as it was used to get me sold.
I’ve slept where I was offered, you’ve slept once there here and too,
I’ve stolen bread, you’ve stolen bread,
We both know very well the Manhattan finer things, well you do.
I’ve lied to protect myself, you lie supine and lateral and rewind, you fine dine and call sign, you text novels, she says, you woo.
I’ll steal bread for the universe for you!
If I had such reach with my plane speech, to feed the stars with words of action and of promise and of hope.
“Man I own less than four feet of your noose, but you are hanging on a thread, dying from your hope.”
The things I’ve done in past lives are made plain at 6am in Brighton, we hold hands sometimes, we stumble we bottle tip, we bottle lighten.
When I was the man with Grey Mask, I used to kill for you!
The things you say, we are twenty minutes from the coming of the new day, the rabbit hole residing; you cling to me like glue.
I lie, I wish to always lie with you.
My past lives melt like midnight wax, like Mason words, like the blue moon too.
I lose myself, I give myself I bind my fate, and its Jew true.
The blue moon above us drowns out the sobs of my soul.
You lie and I cry and the circle sounds, ring tones, bells and things made un whole.
Sobs, of the stroll, the Russian ghetto thug roll, the body count is getting higher as you see into my goal.
We lie on the beach and midnight star wax drips from me to you.
Not two fucks of clue about the things you just might do.
I drip on her, she likes, the pain the basic pain the sealing of desire,
Between my legs you’ll drip and wax on the back you’ll pour, but if it’s true I a married woman, a desired girlfriend and have over fourteen lovers; then use me;
Make me for one night more you story whore.
You almost killed us over nothing, I say.
“You almost kissed me over nothing,” she replies, it’s not yet but almost day.
A dove goes by, it decorates the Brooklyn sky, there are blue blacks turning into tiny yellow rays,
Well we killed us, but don’t make that dirty moment linger. It was the wine, it was the mood, it was the; Je ne sais.
Don’t get French with me my dear,
Dragon flies are temporary creatures, they mate, they kill, and they do not ever stay.
Temperamental predator at best, Daria what is it that you really hide. Where hide you your sword, your blade your knife;
“I bore my neck to monsters, and those monsters took my life.”
The surely know to prey on glorious pests,
Fastest insect in the world they say; but they eat each other.
Whereas I’d like to think you only eat your enemies, the knife point fucking, the dripping wax the rest of it, the salsa dancing; I’m a dirty minded man, but I respect you and I love you as if I were your non-blood brother.
Sounds incestuous for monster to be dating.
We’re blood ritual mating, we’re cold war postulating, we’re exodus deliberating, it’s dawn.
I have never feared death, for I’m mostly dead already;
“Dead men don’t use Amex cards, dead men don’t buy sushi, lamb or steak.”
“You’re not what I signed up for, you’re not like Americans at all, you’re crazy, you a big mistake to take.”
Don’t mock a man who thinks himself bewitched with love, love is vast in itself annoyance mixed to the universe’s called solution.
He is steely in his constitution.
Also half mad, it’s possibly true.
Do not confine his gestures, his fire or his eyes as they shine a new,
Make me prove it!
Me work, identify the mountain and I will seek to move it.
That is the objective anyway, of enamored me.
For if I for one second falter, push me off the very ledge,
“What kind of name is Walter?
You pushed us over the ledge last week, in plain speak.
I am triumphant, let me have you, let me have all.
Potentially I fear, you might die for me this year,
Black hearts defying logic,
This night, remember this night was the edge.
Kiss me hard, don’t look away from this now you’ve pushed me dragon flying off the ledge.