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Doodles Deny.

There’s this flower

amongst many, adorning the page

where your name lies.

I don’t know why they grow

from the pen; curling up

engulfing the space

where words should make sense.

They don’t grow, don’t flow

like flowers – vines tangling

strangling around petals

filling white with

pretty uselessness.

They curl and dance where

sentences should lie

denying you the truth that I can’t bring

myself to write.

I watch them now – overgrown

with a ferocity of ink

that cannot, will not

leave a blot on us.

Maybe I could say it all with flowers.

Say it all the more sweeter…

letting doodles, deny.

The Merry Go Round.

I ride a horse

with crimson feathers

and you kneel in the

carriage

patiently watching

me ride

all Godiver and no

stockings.

Shocking that you

should see a dismount

at such a speed

as we are at,

merrily going

round

carouseling

to the sound

of an organ

that plays us.

Again and again.

The Development Of Heat.

Breathing is staggered, ragged

with anticipation

and desire ripples in the shivering

of skin.

There’s a pounding from within that awakens

a stirring.  A new kind of hunger.

Click.

Sweat glistens in the photograph that the brain

is taking

and there is more than one

way to bring it forth, from the dark room.

Create it.

Scorch the image on to memory

with flesh and fire

and flashes of pulsing excitement.

Now’s the time…

Develop it.

 

 

 

Catastrophic Lipstick

You know it, don’t you.

I’m about to possess you; work
your limbs, mouth
and every other part
with a strip of colour.

It will caress. Devour.
Make you succumb to
the deep secreted urges
that you bury below.

No more.

They’ll take flight,
dancing with Himeros
above our heads as
my tongue speaks
another language.

The language of catastrophic lipstick.

And as its lust penetrates
my skin, infecting me,
making my shadows
steal the light…

I’ll know it’s show time.