Word Hinged Desire
There she stands
with her beautiful, dark
soft shaded hands.
Filling my ears
with her fears
and shit,
telling about life
and what to do with it.
She’s distorted
but focused,
demeanor
is hopeless.
Life is one thing
and somehow
she knows this.
She twirls
and sings,
sans diamond rings,
and I got this
thing
for her.
For sure
I want this blur
to go away.
The eyes have it
today.
And they trace
their way
across the soft
curves of her roads.
In her hand
she holds
a single white rose.
She believes
it’s destiny.
I believe
it’s death to me.
I believe
it doesn’t have love’s position
with its lack of color
and thorny disposition.
She just smiles
and sets
down the rose
and gets
her folder.
Can I hold her?
She’s 10,000 miles away.
Give me a break
dear lord!
can’t you see her
on the floor?
As she pours
and pours
her soul into words.
Rounds her nouns
into herds
of spotted sentences
and striped blurbs.
The page
is a mess;
but her pen
must be blessed.
Because the thoughts
expressed
progress
undress
then regress
back in time.
Epic fantasy
sublime.
I wish
she was mine.
I wish
all the...
time!...
I don’t have
to do this math.
It’s half
again
this fifth of gin
before I
stumble in.
And sin
one can’t win;
but she fills her pages.
She rages
in stages.
Jealous of her sight,
insight.
It’s all right
if the past
won’t eat ya.
It’s all night
if the love
don’t beat ya.
But my eyes
are tired.
They feel
on fire
From verbiage inspired.
From the word hinged desire.
