The aching’s creating disaster within us.
With feigned gesture equivocating,
imitations of pleasure intimating some
weathering from beneath truth ruins.
Anomalous when surfacing, uncertain pain
traces its origins its mistrust
of reason bleeds to vanishing. Urges purging
nothing but buried apparitions.
After our ghosting, in those moments none wishes
existed, how we finish what flesh
never permitted, slaying that spirited rush
those too passionate to rest become.
Breathless fugitives forever running from love
as blood does from hearts unaccustomed
to being costumed in blushes. Too embarrassed
in coming undone, this unfinished
business does not sit well with us who summon
demons of desire to demean whims.
On the off-chance that turning on a man turns him
onto something other than Eros,
then, indifferent to affection’s purchases,
might he find, instead, his skeleton’s
uncloseted. Denuded of secrets, bone gets
picked clean by lips blowing it senseless.
Whistling as wind does cavernous orifices,
opening wounds’ crevices that come
god got in the way of might fill them again. This
service-oriented tongue spills psalms.