Within a Faded Night

I heard my skull crack - 
muted but sincere - 
underneath size seven
Meliani’s
on their way from
Sunday breakfast, 
which consisted of communion
and a sigh -
 
while the paperboy
threw roses 
on expired aspirations,
of a restive kind.
 
The view from here
is blurred,
and painfully
monochromatic - 
if you can find the handle
on that -
and I choke
to swallow lyric,
but I’d gladly dry my tongue
of yesterday’s hosannas,
were I certain your attention
would then taste
just slightly less acrid. 
 
So pour another cup
of rhetoric
and pass it off as reason - 
perhaps you’ll find
a way to hear the rapture
through the din - 
 
but don’t forget
to kill the lights
when evening lays its head
within your shadow - 
and blow me kisses,
patiently,
while silence 
paints my picture
on the floor.

Realizing Mozart

Sincerity’s a lovely play,
though I’m sure
that most would find me
woefully mis-cast. 
 
You see,
it’s very much about
preparation
 
and
 
I missed the dress rehearsal - 
getting caught between
the lines
when the sun refused
to share a space with virtue -
so I never really learned to
hit my marks.
 
It doesn’t help that,
lately,
every horse is sighted -
leaving nods 
to face the query
without benefit of pretext,
as the light bulb
in your closet
winks at verity
then slowly
fades to sigh.
 
Being lost was easy
and expected,
if you pay the critics
any mind,
and it never should have 
felt that safe -
 
but when I woke
to find myself  
inside blue eyes -  
 
I threw away the roadmaps - 
 
turned up the music -
 
and knew 
that I
was home.

Unbuttoned

I never knew rooftops 
shared this many secrets,
or that your soul 
would taste ambrosial,
on my ever-probing tongue -
 
but I’ve always loved the way
that dress 
attempts to hide your prurience,
and how the light regards
each hungry curve
with filtered lechery.
 
The edge is here
for dancing,
and to serve as a reminder
that your doctrines
failed the test -
 
but the breeze 
that sets a kiss
upon those
unsuspecting thighs -
 
knows nothing of a life
that once had slept
between glass pages - 
 
and frankly dear,
it couldn’t give a damn.