Zenona

Make ya fuckin’ art baby;
Big, bold, and as beautiful as your imprint emblazoned on my mind.
Listen to your words.
Ooh, listen to those words sprinkled lightly with profundity;
Concepts rife with fecundity —
I could plant a thousand geniuses in the fields of your imagination;
Invagination: I place my interest squarely inside your innermost qualia.
The Blackest Dahlia, you’re persecuted for your thoughts;
But your ideas, they are sumputuous;
Full bodied, full of life, sine qua non anon of a future full of life.
I fill my eyes with your spirit’s sweet visage.
Make ya motha’ fuckin’ art babygirl.
Make ya motha’ fuckin’ art.

ghosts

You haunt my dreams; what is it that you want so badly from me?

I have already processed you, understood you to be an ill fit;

Why must you appear to me as if you’re somehow different?

Intimacy

And He longed to taste Her mind.
Sample the schemas, the dreams, the desires;
The obsessions, the fears, the wires
That connected the ices to the fires;
Voices of Her choirs; He longed to hear Her innerspeak.
And if it was wrong, He’d willingly pay the Sinner’s fee,
Damn Himself to the deepest pit,
If that was the cost for Him to sit,
Near enough, dear enough, hear clear enough the whispers of Her sanctum,
Desideratum, these passions flanked him, and ranked him, Her Partner.
Quiet, in the stillness of the morning, He caressed her.
He blessed her with willingness.

Afterlife

Such wondrous tableau: me in the mixed state;
Earthly virile; the fruits of my labor do satisfy,
Yet, there is no rosiness in my eye;
Life fills me; but I feel as though I’ve died.

Upon her lips, she stole my essence.
Cosmic comeuppance, was there a profound lesson?
Or was I lowered to Dante’s abyss by wanton chance?
What could validate such pain?

Behind closed eyelids, I am aware of who I am,
What I’ve done, who I’ve become;
I see that my fields are green and my storehouse full.
Yet, I am empty; without she, I am barren.

What happened to my inner fruit?
Where has she taken them?
Upon her lips she stole my heart.
I wasn’t even aware it was up for grabs.

My bones are hollow and my meals forced down.
My stomach is bitter and my voice a forced sound.
The last night together, skin upon skin,
I thought we’d be there again.

And again, and again; and yet, I’m here again,
Full of fear again; filled with tears again;
Pregnant with anguish, I languish at the loss of my beauty,
No words soothe me; no verbs move me.

Proverbs smoothly, uttered from a tongue truly,
Baffled by the pivot, pock-marked with divots,
I can’t even become livid as the vivid image,
Of her face limits my range.

I fear I am already deranged.
Estranged by her alacritous change
I am hanged.
While I know I live.

I passed away.