My tongue is the friction of my thoughts

Sliding against the lips that contain the words

Perched precariously still

It is silent betrayal of motion tangling devotion

To a higher form of worship, in pen

Ink slowly staining fingertips that tilt

With the whims of Calliope

And caress the senseless heart

With promises born of regrets

Unwilling to be forgiven or forgotten.

Haunt me with your token words

Traced in the fluid of broken sounds

Drenched in the precious scent

That lingers from your touch

And fills my mind with your taste.

Shake me from this deepened slumber

Show me why I live

Why I breathe

And why the words familiar

Are alien to my tongue

Whenever you’re around.

Words

Fold into poetry

Like origami shapes

Filled with ink

Bursting

Into patterns unreal

Echoing the withheld

Withdrawn proposals

Silent

Sketching of outsiders

Struggling to manifest

The inner workings

Deranged

Arrangements of futility

Arguing in favor

Of disparaging hopefulness

Forgotten.

Blood and soul pass

Intertwining like hands clasped

In intercession and supplication

Of unworthy and impassioned whims

Colliding and concurring

Contorting and conjuring

Captivated cessation of guilt.

Confessions lined with feigned

Indifference to consequence

Catalogued as simple inconveniences

To minds more set on progression

Than obsession with fading breathes

Reach out to ears deafened

By the whispering of the circumstantial.

Listen, they cry

In voices softened by harsh screams

Heard only by those powerless

To provide necessities of body

Blood and soul drifting

In winds set by dreams once held

Now slipping into the void

Left by words unsaid

As tokens spent in faithfulness

For passage denied.

Concentrated fruity goodness

Attributed to the budding tastes of an infant deity

Nourishing addiction to the shapes of mankind’s creation

Demolished and dissolved in fervent corruption

Yes…

Sometimes in life

We find ourselves more concerned

With the hours that are passing

Instead of living the seconds in between

Sometimes I cannot stand

That you live outside the curves

Of the world built with words

Carefully crafted to capture in awe

The readers of your form.

You are free written breathlessness

Struggling to speak phrases

Alien to my lips

Plucked from histories spent

In fragile recollection.

Italicized glory drips from your tongue

As temptations grounded in tradition

Sliding between the teeth

That spell my name in black.

Spoken in haste,

Rebuffed in recitation

Then carved in stone.

You are more than words;

Be free of expectation.

For, in reality, you are simply more.

Silver Afternoons

Descending like a gentle fog

Upon the skin

Condescending and condensation

Refined.

Effluent rays diffused

And scattered shade shine

Shimmering with subdued radiance

Rendered and renewed,

Divine.

Oh say what they like

And take it for naught

Grains of sand slipping

Like words unfamiliar, yet kind

From the mouths of pageantry.

A charade of characterizations

Paraded like effigies

Through a sea of ideas

Then burned

At the stakes of our claims.

A childish grin escapes my lips

With muffled laughter obscured

By the back of my fingers,

Interlaced in composed existence.

I eye your message tenderly

With piercing analytical persuasion

And meted and measured

Words.

A small breath slips by the escort

Through Bastille and fort alike

Prancing softly

With charismatic glee.

I linger as you notice

Defiant openly

The jig is up, I’ve had enough

This cat’s too much for me.