Black Tar Rose

To lovers who
          sleep apart—

                                                  As natural as a fact, vows, promises,
                                             and pacts shatter when lips and legs part, a heart
                                        like a dollar ripped in half is another
                                   matter after love’s transaction’s started, hours
                              after asking for it but not long before
                         loneliness departs, it’s an artist’s weakness
                    to let habits break him when indifference
               unmasks itself, revealing it’s just a face
          taking breath from him when one hip kisses wind,
     two trembling hands grip flesh, and torn vision goes
blind, wishing that in those unkind moments porn

was only fiction, that having to live in
     integrity-compromising positions
          was more than that fiery prison desire’s
               wicked sculptor designed for them to burn in,
                    a kiln for soulless bones whose fingers grasp for
                         love but hold a black tar rose as its filth flows
                              through sweating palms where shame grows, black shadows where
                                   its flaming path plows, unclean teeth of heat sown
                                        in shallow ground dragons fear to tread, where tears
                                             keep damp sweet mouths speaking lies they can’t take back,
                                                  those fragrant sighs guys waste on evil flowers.