Hey, Here's this week's www.textsfromlastnight.com poem. Knocked this one off in a hurry because I'm behind on a lot of projects. But, keeping to a schedule of writing is a good thing for a body to do.
You deepen the mystery.
That’s how you tender the hearth,
The smoky, seasoned coals of love.
Illusion must be kept.
Shadows and the landscape of fingerprints for sex.
Hair color modified, the original hue long forgotten.
There’s a door in the bathroom for a reason.
My ablutions, my quiet and waste-bearing time,
Needs to be apart from him.
A church of noise and water.
The beginning of it all shouldn’t matter.
So I slipped a pill in his drink. So he stumbled
Into my apartment.
So I peeled off his clothes and watched him breathe
Like a frightened goldfish.
In time, he shuddered to my insistent touch.
In time, we locked our hips together
And staring, chased the pleasure
Percolating from our hungry want.
What holds, what keeps, is the bleeding now.
And if I break this mystery,
All others will crumble
And I’ll just be another barely contained shape
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