Rush Hour

The heart is not
a place for pictures
a palace of champions
a crusade to fight.
Its' walls are empty
to echoing rhythms
beached by the storm,
but open to pass
kisses to the mind.
Try as best you can
you will never
outrun my pencil.
Your lips may be
beautiful, soft-
but my passageway
is always eight open
lanes of traffic.

Justynuff

I slip off my lime
head first into
the cold concrete.
Professionalism left
at a basement door
for a man drunk
on your made
for TV movie
to take home
and snack on.
Proofrock's not
so bad anymore
even, i get it now,
J. Alfred was far
worse off than I,
far lonelier.
Shallow.

But learning to like
is not learning to love
and I'm not sure
which is more
capricious.
I would ask that
and other things
too messy
for handwriting,
but the deaf mute
prefers lines.

So one lion
roars to
a city of them
as he sits alone
watching her
play on her leash
with jackals
wondering if
she smiles at sunrise.

Why

That's really nice,
really.
Goosebumps
show that you
felt it.

But-
I don't want
that...

I want to hear
that I absolutely
took your breath
away-
made you fall
back in your seat
biting your lip-
pushing your heart
to beat so fast
so hard
that it might
leap from your chest.

But-
I don't want
that either...

So confusing
and secretive
are words
that aren't
blunt enough
to just come out
and say
I want to
feel your body
against mine
in candle light.

But-
I can't want
that...

You forgot the bee

There is a bee buzzing
around my flower's stem
never landing but coming
close enough to feel
the wind beating off.

Then without notice
the wings fall off
sending my bee reeling
it returns in blue
and posses for me.

Pick your wings up
dust them off
fly again and land
naked as the truth
that drives your desire.

Pollenate my mind
that I may flourish
with smells and colors
to fill empty hearts
cast aside by time.

Strip down to nothing
bare your thoughts
to what could grow
from a planted seed
so cared for.

I'm not nearly finished
with this or you
not until the lines of lust
and sighs of passion
are written in ink.

Dinners

Such a beautiful recipe
of european delight
bouncing off the tongue
nearly real enough
but not quite.

To say the least
I am hungry as a hostage
with pains from within
eating a hole in myself.

Though I try to call
my order in advance
that I may find it ready
to take home when I arrive
there is never an answer.

Perhaps the chef
will answer one day
not leaving my face blue
or dinner too complicated...

It's ok

Beneath the ugliness
of a story made for film
there is a twinkle of light
guiding me from the fog
to the unknown.
Your heart still beats
proving that even death
can be undone by desire
to breathe life both
cruel and wonderful.
I would write until
my fingers bled
at the tips
if I thought it could
create a new life.
If nothing more
may some simple words
paint a smile across
your face when
nothing else will.

Give me ten minutes

Lay beside me
like you've wanted to
and hoped you would
since you owned me.

Stay your heartache
where it is
where it has always been
to hurt another.

Embrace the lie
that we were
never meant to be
close enough to touch.

Don't wrap your heart
around another disappointment
when life has offered
a warmer hand.

Your feet are cold
but mine are not
and soon yours
won't be either.

Don't surrender to fear
that a lie of disappointment
can inprison your warm viens
into icy wastelands.

Break free of what
poisons your beauty
and escape to a place
where you can kiss me.