my half of improvisations with an old friend

I’m drowning in the rapids of your neo-classical flesh.  (why do you lie?)

My soul caresses your chapped lips

Like a hippopotamus on a lily pad.  (why do you ask why?)

Your eyes

Electrify my being

In the deepest moments of the new moon.

When I kiss your…(Stop!)

Toes…(oh)

Your controversial tongue rips through and licks my

Pounding…lone…heart

With a deceitful passion that leaves my carcass

Lying  (why do you lie?)

In the dust.

My eyes

Bleed 

With the hidden desire of Byron,

To touch your hair…

To wander in lonely spirals 

Leading nowhere,

But into the depths

Of your hall of mirrors soul, only

To finally find myself alone.

Emaciated in self-crucifixion, only

Wanting to touch your hair…(touch me.

Let me know that You are I, and I is now, and…)