On writing and coming

Writing is just like coming.
An orgasm in words
Waiting breathlessly to be ejaculated.

The joy of the agony of waiting
Impaled on the jagged brink of peaks of pleasure
Only a deluge will now satisfy me.    

Come Come Come
Burn Burn Burn
Write Write Writhe.

Lying empty                                       
My thoughts an inviting seminal pool on the paper
Come closer and I will draw you into the quicksand of my come
Imprison and drown you
In this world of my making.
Till kingdom come

Death do us part.

Boy

Touch, dream, touch
Story in my mind that never dies
Her hand in mine
Beneath the open skies.

Pure, innocence, pure
Just wanting to explore
How does someone else feel like?
Everything need not be about fucking
Sometimes just to hold someone
Is deeply deeper than penetrating.

In my dreams
I still hold your hand and weep
A sorrow for something never complete                                               
A sorrow for something lost
A sorrow for something never to be found...

What is but the life of a boy made of
If not of unassailable castles and unfinished missions               
Of carrying a burning ember of memory for the rest of his life.

Bite

Dark bitter heart.

I took a bite.

Only to realize it is mine.

In the middle

Neither too old

Neither too young

I am someone in the middle.

Never too shy

Never too bold

I am someone in the middle.

Never explicit

Never implicit

I am someone in the middle.

Never too bright

Never too dumb

I am someone in the middle.

Neither the pacifist

Neither the militant

I am someone in the middle.

Never deny

Never accept

I am someone in the middle.

Sometimes I run

Sometimes I crawl

I am someone in the middle.

Some days I live

Some days I die

I am someone in the middle.

Never loved

Never could love

I am someone in the middle.

They Say

They say

Sex destroys Love.

So don't let me go.

Hold me tight, into the night.

...Like a fistful of coins in the beggars hand.

...Like a hint of gold in an ageing dust pan.

...Like the apple of the widow’s eye.

They say

Lies destroys Love.

So don’t let me speak.

Pin my tongue and keep me mute 

...Like a virgin’s shame 

...Like a secret lover’s name

...Like all the Brutus’s in this world.

They say

Freedom tests love

So don’t let me go.

Embrace me in the dark.

Suffocate me on your heart.

...Like the rider lay’s down his steed.

...Like the penniless farmer poisons his brood.

...Like the madman strangulates his wife.Out of love.

I talk to myself

i feel empty.

always feel empty.

always blank.

talking to myself.

many conversations.

why do i talk?

it is only listening that affirms us.

words need to find the ear womb to 

blossom into emotions 

and return me my flesh and blood.

i just wanted someone to care for me.

i just wanted someone to hear me

When did that become so hard?

When did i become ugly?

My words needed a world to reside

but there was none.

I was given a desert...

sand flew and laughed at me.

I wanted to live by the brook and sing to the stream

but i got a stagnant sewer

and the putrid smell of decaying dreams.

The stench of failure comes from within me

each breath...reminding me of 

the corpse of my dreams lying within me.

Ad Infinitum

we were lost to be found. 

a feverish desire to be found burns inside us, eternally.

we want to keep getting lost to be found.

what is the warmth of a coat that envelopes us,
if not to be lashed on our naked skin by the howling wind. 

help me get lost
again and again and again
so i may be found by my love each time. 
ad infinitum.