549.

An army of drunks
swarming in expectation
of absent magic.

548.

The air is hung with
a haze of yearning today.
Empty hopes abound.

547.

The fomenting tide
is ever swelling up in
threat of a breaking.

546.

An anchor around
my neck of desecrated
bones, set to choking.

545.

Can you hear my heart
crying out toward you in
emotion's sonar?

544.

There is a voice in
-side my throat that chokes me if
left too long unheard.

543.

The holy honor
beset materialism,
merry met Jesus.

542.

The caricatures
are all dressed up and ready
to make with feigned joy.

541.

Tend me like I was
new. Untried among the wiles
of love and bodies.

540.

He speaks distortions
in each syllable of an
aching, broken heart.

539.

Winter begins with
the slow creep of a frigid
morning, snow driven.

538.

The sheer beauty of
a silent cacophony
persists here tonight.

537.

Certain moments are
only bearable knowing
someone else suffers.

536.

There is a soundtrack,
somewhere, to suit each second
of this existence.

535.

The reflection from
this face staring back at me
somehow confuses.

534.

Small owl faces, their
eyes tilted in a haunting
complicity. Hung.

533.

There are moment's of
certainty that each blink holds
ghosts within its sight.

532.

She drew herself up,
dead of night and sleeping, brain
compelled from slumber.

531.

The dust kisses the
window corners and drapes the
room, a disused shroud.

530.

Intoxicated
on what damage this sober
reality makes.

529.

In the silence of
an empty house, disquiet
creeps in on soft feet.

528.

The larval remains
of a regurgitated
heart lays twitching here.

527.

I wonder at the
construction of the fragile
shell of these bodies.

526.

Does everyone else
in the world feel different
from each other too?

525.

A Hunter Thompson
prophecy in flesh. Nothing
can save that heart now.

524.

In a blink, the sky
bleeds into the dark expanse,
gone in an instant.

523.

A child's trusting grasp
around a parent's neck is
such trusting beauty.

522.

The bruise of winter's
shade reaches out its hungry
fingers. Consuming.

521.

A low bank of clouds
hang over this house, steady
foreshadowing here.

520.

Left to animals
treated so much better than
so many people.

519.

A failing of the
body that should touch each of
our fragile soul's heart.

518.

What is memory
but a disease of senses,
taunting body's loss?

517.

And so youth slips from
us, just as we finally
learn to decipher.

516.

The gentle kiss of
a chilled morning sky lures me
to a fool's parade.

515.

What is this world? So
suffused with hopelessness and
lonely surrender.

514.

She was beautiful,
all full lips and tender eyes
pleading for escape.

513.

The odd shift of an
atrocity turned into
family, food, and thanks.

512.

She speaks softly, barbs
daggering cynicism
into blind minions.

511.

And so, with wary
hand extended, the circle
jerk finds completion.

510.

Dress me in your words
so I can press their meaning
deep into this skin.

509.

The armies of train-
yards march forever on in
a desperate parade.

508.

The naive standard
of the cosseted public
confuses purpose.

507.

I compare you with
simple pleasure to see how
you fit up against.

506.

A beautiful game,
charades and sleights of hands, met
under love's regard.

505.

His lithograph fades.
But persistent memory
denies abating.

504.

Trapped in this hovel
of misshapen dreams, turned in
and perverted out.

503.

A depression sinks,
weighed down with all the living
time cannot change.

502.

I've lead with my head
in every fall. Such self-
hewn lobotomies.

501.

A room of hollow
ears and empty hearts, cast in
bare abandonment.

500.

Left directionless
with this solipsistic heart
as a reference.

499.

The brain, a one man
construction project, with the
body its victim.

498.

The sea is tinted
in silvered shadows, peeking
out from waves below.

497.

A silhouette, left
as the only evidence
of what once remained.

496.

His heart an exact
match, as vague and restless with
deep wanting as mine.

495.

The prettiness of
dusk, hung in the arms of
a cold autumn mist.

494.

Vertigo begins,
trailed through a sense of change, stuck
etched as elusive.

493.

The unrelenting
onslaught of rain here wears the
sky down in cleansing.

492.

I can feel the seas
call to swallow me down with
each ships slow passage.

491.

The fading city,
a towering edifice
in time's reversal.

490.

Honor lays at the
feet of a million bones spent
when their keepers left.

489.

If only the bent
knees supplication to saints
evoked prayers found.

488.

And so the armies
of children march, painted but
robbed of joy by time.

487.

A surrealistic
fanfare, solipsistic in
its failing wonder.

486.

The dragging feet of
fall finally bestows the
sweetest of kisses.

485.

The press of fingers
a slow benediction, with
me as your altar.

484.

Such safety in the
stretch of arms full reach, holding
me gently captive.

483.

My fingers carded
through your hair, trying to read
emotion's beneath.

482.

You tasted of joy
and laughter, bubbling beneath
that tongue's soft surface.

481.

It was a fall sky,
not unlike this one's moment,
completely suffused.

480.

I think of you, hand
in mine, awkwardly fervent
with love held between.

479.

Her vulnerable
tragedy seduces one
into a heart's trap.

478.

The colored fever
of this fall's storms, resonates
like an anchored bell.

477.

The cogitating
of a mind, instills such an
urgently pressed lust.

476.

The demonstrative
love between ends as little
more than a hanging.

475.

The heart of music
reaches out and catches me
with each pulse of sound.

474.

And on their ghosts roll
and tumble within my ribs,
my mother and hers.

473.

The hold of passion
here, qualified in lies and
lasting betrayal.

472.

A massacre of
expended motion, spent and
forever wanting.

471.

An army of cheap
automatons, feigning life
across a small screen.

470.

Impatient hands twist
into that hair, pushing at
emotion's maelstrom.

469.

The sky is veiled in
gentle cloud's opaque cover,
raining down a fog.

468.

She dresses herself
in his vision, cloaking skin
with a hungry need.

467.

You strange, beautiful,
amazing creature; keep on
coloring me bright.

466.

Those facile words don't
charm past the surface of their
baited intentions.

465.

His eyes, a slow and
well-guarded secret, holding
gentle heart's hostage.

464.

And because it bears
repeating, here is last year's
haiku once again:

Today is my day.
My day, my day. Today is
my day. And not yours!

463.

My feet are anchored
in lead with each step further
extending away.

462.

An empty construct,
full of nothing but unheard
words and failed stories.

461.

You have a heart that
reaches past this structure's hold,
especially to-

-day, spent in a love's
celebration of your birth's
anniversary.

460.

I would gladly dress
you in my eyes vision, if
you could but believe.

459.

All slight reactions,
curled toes and soft shivers, gives
me a pleasure back.

458.

A month, born into
sunsets, begins here. Each day
etched in surrender.

457.

I yearn to mold space
and words direction, cast to
house sublimation.

456.

I want to spread you
out and map each scar into
a shared memory.

455.

Absolution is
made moot in the face of an
absented response.

454.

The frisson, culled from
knowledge of what will follow,
here leaves a missing.

453.

An ache suffuses,
throbbing hunger out from the
mouth between my thighs.

452.

Desire fills up
my lungs in a desperate
attempt at drowning.

451.

There is no under-
standing that includes escape
from memory's grasp.

450.

The husk of her pain-
soaked voice, hurtled out so long
ago, still stabs me.

449.

I still remember
the feel of soil there, held
like the earth's prayer.

448.

The picture was cast
in the leering expanse of
her melancholy.

447.

Sometimes it's as if
the world bears its own compass
on hard stories birth.

446.

Her body held sway
under the lights and shadows.
A sexy comfort.

445.

With a look, as if
the sun itself rose within
my bones, calls for need.

444.

Your heart a tender
apéritif to tease the
soul's wanting palate.

443.

There are a million
pictures wearing my face out
there and none reflect.

442.

Hungry to make new
fodder for the, as ever,
growing hate machine.

441.

Left to an obtuse
pyromaniac to set
fire to my bones.

440.

Very little of
what we think is anything
but repetition.

439.

Peace, an elusive
wonder by which all souls wait
by the side for turns.

438.

And so the years of
mourning resurrect today
in honor of hearts.

437.

Sometimes I can feel
insecurities reaching
out of their set grave.

436.

If only I could
just poke my ear and let the
thoughts come tumbling out.

435.

I think of you with
every pass of another
body against skin.

434.

Fragile breakups too
often lead to recapture.
Escape while you can.

433.

The supernova
of that dream crests and then breaks
over us gently.

432.

An hourglass drip.
leaking Stockholm Syndromes is
the family view here.

431.

Such cold comfort is
the line of ashes from heart's
moratorium.

430.

Little monkey boy,
born under an octopus
moon, here flourishes.

429.

All the linguistic
hieroglyphics history
struggles to have seen.

428.

Angels are a soft
ideal, leering in judgment's
blind usurpation.

427.

That little girl, set
already as a problem
conformist, stuttered.

426.

Sometimes, I get so
unbelievably tired
of having to think.

425.

All the mirages
of insular living leave
only emptiness.

424.

When you stand at the
horizon of your life, what
will be stitched inside?

423.

A quiet rapture
quilts gentle dreams into the
precipice before.

422.

I want to kneel at
the altar of your heart's church
and bear confession.

421.

What secrets do you
keep under the auspices
of self-protection?

420.

The paralyzing
memory of parables
learned the hard way, numbs.

419.

Dreams become nightmares
in the stifled space of air's
occupied fractures.

418.

All too often I
still trip clumsy feet over
baggage in my head.

417.

Today is caught like
webs in the crosshairs of a
past long forgotten.

416.

I want to press hands
deep into your flesh with soft
heat's exploration.

415.

I sing gentle hymns
to an empty heart, cradled
in tremulous hope.

414.

Lost, adrift in the
fluctuating currents of
this fleeting passion.

413.

Color us in those
copious deceptions so
emotions can drown.

412.

Stroke me into the
sun's background so light may not
dig up gaunt hollows.

411.

Gentle orchids float
as victims to rapacious
wind's brutal giving.

410.

Disposable skin
breaks like glue sheened on flesh to
offer new beneath.

409.

Often, your mouth is
but a caricatured lock,
broken on hope's box.

408.

Ink stains on bleeding
walls document the capture
of paper mimes here.

407.

Come be my turn style
and shunt me a new vision
through you little slut.

406.

The curved blade cuts two
sides from my face in splendor.
Such pretty pain.

405.

A me not even
I know paints cracks on the bones
of conformity.

404.

Here, we occupy
entire existences
constructed by fear.

403.

Pseudo Eden maps
out modern deities on
the edge of heart's sea.

402.

We spend the mass of
our lives apologizing
for misplaced duty.

401.

I want to ride your
tongue into the deep depths where
no one else has gone.

400.

I could live in a
library with my stomach
full of just those books.

399.

Does the light chasing
the shadows out of all dark
corners never tire?

398.

Busy lives stream whole
existence's fast forward.
Empty production.

397.

Silence, the repose
of deliberate actions
oft spoken intent.

396.

Time is a trapped, wild
animal, caged by a clock's
static dissection.

395.

Diluted passion,
offered up as a loser's
trite consolation.

394.

A swath of velvet
sorrow, dressed amidst the flood
of emotion's ease.

393.

A sad, gray cast day,
with the sea shimmering grief
and the sky lament.

392.

The press of those just
passed images tunnel through
my brain and take root.

391.

Words take me away,
speaking in languages that
tear thought's asunder.

390.

Sometimes what I see
behind my lids far extends
the beauty in front.

389.

The rock inside my
heart is you, forcing vessels
to learn new channels.

388.

A cacophony
of motion, each desperate
to scream, "look at me".

387.

As the day wakens,
the sounds of life begin to
emerge and expand.

386.

The bouquet of ripe
flesh, coated in their sheens of
masked exposure, hangs.

385.

The day is bright with
the flash of people, dressed up
and posturing on.

384.

So much passion in
the air that breath's should spark to
life with each exhale.

383.

Only in death is
true serenity found in
the face of people.

382.

Flay me open by
the serrated edge of that
poisoned, acid tongue.

381.

The empty holes of
your eyes burn a tragedy
of heart's memory.

380.

My heart tumbles, as
if adrift on the rough sea,
floundering and drowned.

379.

All the guileless hearts
offer tender overtures
to acquiesce to.

378.

The absence of space
between us is redolent
in need to escape.

377.

Depressed people should
always be offered rooms with
windows to jump from.

376.

I float through the stars,
body temporarily
stead by soft dreams.

375.

The melancholy
haze of dusty twilight holds
me in its beauty.

374.

You seek passion where
it has never existed.
This ride wearies me.

373.

Grass and flowers bend
and sway under the wind's hand,
culling surrender.

372.

I want to hold your
fragile heart, just to see how
many ways it breaks.

371.

She reaches out to
me, oh so tentatively.
Am I so scary?

370.

You dress me full of
all your wishes, but when do
I get a choice too?

369.

Woman, internal
masochist, seeking some change:
diagnosis, please?

368.

The day stretches out,
full of so much that I don't
want to get to do.

367.

The thoughts sweep in, such
captive imaginations,
holding hope hostage.

366.

Your expectations
hold and sink down over me,
not unlike a shroud.

365.

An empty dance, left
to never be mastered. Each
day tried again new.

364.

The caveats I
place on love must confuse. Just
forward and then back.

363.

I want to wear your
adoration, but only
in those bare moments.

362.

You see me through a
window, painted in moisture,
muted to vision.

361.

Always seeking some
promise, impossible though
its believing is.

360.

This is the weight sewn
into a hem, dragging one
toward a heart's death.

359.

I want your eyes to
be charcoals, burning with need
each time you see me.

358.

I envy the sun,
shielded from other's presence
on punishment death.

357.

They all fear leaving,
while for me, the tragedy
is in their staying.

356.

The days of blue skies
theater welcomes me with
its fragile embrace.

355.

If only more males
would bother being fathers,
not playing at men.

354.

They are focused on
distant horizons while I
remain locked in dreams.

353.

Too often I am
seduced by melancholy
instead of people.

352.

Every time you speak
of love, my heart's anchor drops
clear through my stomach.

351.

She tilts her face up,
eternal coquette that just
reads as desperate.

350.

That damp grasp, reaching
out from the dark to grasp my
flesh makes my soul crawl.

349.

My pale flesh, dressed in
the tender vision of a
long-held neurosis.

348.

Drifting along a
hollow-eyed future dream that
mirrors a drug haze.

347.

The weight of that stare
sears me like a brand. Knowing,
full of ownership.

346.

The guile needed to
woo me are those already
possessed and ignored.

345.

The moon calls me out
to dance in surrender of
her slow seduction.

344.

Oh, to be floating
right now, off in the turquoise
arms of a lost sea.

343.

Can it be any
wonder that people are cruel
with such loneliness?

342.

The press of bodies
when busy are often the
only touch some get.

341.

The soft breeze of air
when someone passes close by,
so gently lingers.

340.

Sometimes, in the midst
of passion, I imagine
you shaping my soul.

339.

Love, so often, feels
like neglect when memory
is left to decay.

338.

How impervious
we are to inflicting pain
always amazes.

337.

The hollow ache of
knowing you will feel
like I do, echoes.

336.

It feels like nothing
could ever matter unless
it came between us.

335.

A day etched out in
memory for what freedom
usually costs.

334.

Whenever we're not
together, the world is stopped.
Stasis when apart.

333.

His attention made
me the bloom, only growing
under his regard.

332.

The clouds take on the
characteristics of its
viewer's moodiness.

331.

Her body is a
study in texture, dappled
beneath that tree's reach.

330.

He spun me like a
top, around and around from
his arm's carousel.

329.

The gulf between me
and normalcy could leave us
all different species.

328.

Draconian etched
choices, recused of any
personal decisions.

327.

The idea of love you're
selling is positively
medieval designed.

326.

She rolled across the
bed, redolent with pleasure,
glowing from within.

325.

Standing on the edge
of choice feels too much like a
lie's sweet seduction.

324.

And so the magic
lure of romance dissipates
with the shine of dawn.

323.

I watch the slow press
and murmur of their passion.
A silent voyeur.

322.

The night wore such a
sad indigo cover this
morning. Foreshadow.

321.

You speak in belief
that I've intoxicated you
but that path leads to

no seduction. For
I know all too well of how
drunks can't be trusted.

320.

No one bleeds out words,
despite how prettily the
tragedy is cast.

319.

A generation
of empty faces and hearts
hides between my bones.

318.

Singed fingers too soon
forget the lessons of burns
when the flame beckons.

317.

The moon is casting
its seductive fever down
tonight, all beware.

316.

Your sentimental
heart latches onto the past
to hold day at bay.

315.

The wisps of new blooms
filled the air with their shower
of tender kisses.

314.

Can one call it love
when it comes with that many
provisions and traps?

313.

The serpentine coils
of your back muscles moving
together lures so.

312.

Trapped between them, we
are left try to and morse code
messages to each

other through the beat
of our perennially lost
and staggered hearts here.

311.

Watching you dance is
such sweet pleasure as your feet
do verily sing.

310.

He tongued a million
new experiences on
my skin in bare blinks.

309.

A tiny David
thwarts a French Goliath and
then... drunken parties.

308.

The fervency of
expended emotions holds
both glory and fear.

307.

The conversation
of veins, split and rewound to
the start, is true love.

306.

Drawn into the soft
mythology of love that
supersedes harsh fact.

305.

The genius of most
duplicity rests in their
belief of being

so very different.
And so fools and children last
into adulthood.

304.

That breath falls next to
me in a gently soothing
fold of tongues and air.

303.

The love extended
might not seem plausible, but
still necessary.

302.

She spoke in tender
idioms, comforting me
by the syllable.

301.

The connection of
a soul's grasp reaches across
the ethereal.

300.

The haze of sleep, so
reluctant to leave me this
day, ensconced in dreams.

299.

And the slumber of
emotions wakes up from its
slow collapse to black.

298.

The instinctual
draw of our bodies pull the
string on an often

played echo. Open
mind, insert marionette.
Circle jerks commence.

297.

I want to roll my
body amongst the veins of
your bloody, gored heart.

296.

The contraction of
vowels, rounded and apart,
splits between our sound.

295.

How did I manage
to get past so much and still
be so fucking scared?

294.

The grasp of that mouth
pulling upon me seems like
the only time seen.

293.

What is the point of
survival when the living
is so clearly done.

292.

This compass always
points the wrong way when I most
need it to lead me.

291.

A gulf stands between
dreams and my ability
to have them realized.

290.

He keeps mouthing all
the promises I cannot
afford to believe.

289.

The fragility
of our lives too often lost
in pointless morass.

288.

I feel so very
alone, as each tongue offered
in response highlights.

287.

How can I want so
much to erase her heartbreak
when my own shatters?

286.

Another empty
"accomplishment" passes as
purpose still eludes.

285.

Each time our eyes meet,
that mouth trembles at me and
my stilted heart breaks.

284.

The illusion of
happiness, such a hopeless
narcotic, teasing.

283.

And in a blink, the
anchors of sorrow settle
deep within my throat.

282.

Condensation and
gentle heat's pressure enfolds
us in its embrace.

281.

The weight of feelings
holds them down within the fold
of harsh memory.

280.

All too often the
inescapable nature
of action taunts me.

279.

Caught in the dervish
of dreams thought, chased, and sometimes
even half realized.

278.

And on the empty
chase for illusion and gain
is taught kids today

under another
purported auspice of good
ole theology.

277.

All her secret hopes
hang in those eyes, shuddering
out with each slow blink.

276.

The bite of his tongue
falls to harsh vainglory in
the light of morning.

275.

What is so very
different about today
when it comes to fools,

as ever, needing
to be held up and suffered?
Intended targets?

274.

Divergent choices
lead the heart toward bloodbaths
or sweet nirvana.

273.

The migration of
our hearts moves together and
apart. Pulling hard.

272.

The chartreuse skyline
hangs, as if holding the haze
of dreams in its depths.

271.

The slow surrender
of time creeps over my skin
in soft seduction.

270.

The expanse between
sleep and surreality slides
inside to haunt me.

269.

The fall of lashes
on cheeks look to be such soft,
tender innocence.

268.

My head is full of
desultory wishes that
mire all progress.

267.

He passes through my
dreams in a haze of gold-
-dust and slow shivers.

266.

The desperation
of emotions too often
strangles attraction.

265.

As you ignore how
often your truth still finds a
way to end as lies.

264.

What differences
perception lends when realized
at the beginning.

263.

I am enthralled by
what nature is offering
up for consumption.

262.

I sit quiet, held
under the wonder of this
opaque skies theater.

261.

The sky is full of
slate surrender, whipping a
tumult of leeched clouds.

260.

Just so you know, green
is an atrocious color
on just about every-

-one. Also, let's be
clear: If you pinch me today,
stabbing will commence.

259.

I used to be bold
and relatively fearless.
Who is this muted

girl I have become?
Looking for permissions where
none could be needed.

258.

All I see down each
street are empty windows. Is
no one ever home?

257.

Why do most people
even have windows? Almost
all would never think

to let the world see
inside. Nor they honestly
view the world beyond.

256.

All the cars from a
distance look like so many
scurrying ants. So

tiny and busy,
a microcosm of life
in an empty chase.

255.

The sky and sea, such
paired, sad overtures of the
finite ground between.

254.

The sun offering
a fading wave as the light
dissipates slowly.

253.

The town recedes in
the distance as the water
lengthens ever on.

252.

Settling anchors
in my throat, who's angles stab
me, all in your name.

251.

Choking stunted peace
from the empty bottoms of
all our ready pills.

250.

Here beauty hides so
mischievously in the dark
corners of ugly.

249.

Winter skies chase the
ground in gentle cloud's playful
embrace, just trailing.

248.

Emotions crowd for
space on love's faded lawn. So
much weary refuse.

247.

Torn fragments of our
shattered past, litter the hearts
of lost memories.

246.

As the girl crawls in
a rush over, shuffling and
contorting, until

he's safely ensconced
in her bottles. Then they are
all thrown, together,

out to the sea. Where
the waves embrace their faces
and make them rattle.

245.

Until finally
Tom Waits enters the stage from
the left. A mute and

paralyzed witness
to beautiful emotion's
tragedy seen here.

244.

Through black and white blinks,
each picture rolls together
and apart, while the

music is formed back
with original siblings,
their black eyes staring

upwards, emptily
at the ceiling, seeing what
it is they have wrought.

243.

From the violin,
the bottles, and back to the
piano. Repeat.

242.

Then her husband sits
up, as if in collusion,
and reaches for the

bottles. While on she
walks, room to room, one ever
moving, slow, circle.

241.

Across the ocean,
from a dream, a guitar plucks
and a wife wakes up

from her Tokyo bed.
Silently, a mime out of
dream's surreality.

240.

While with each flick of
chord, the wires become further
stretched out behind the

priest's neck. Like vicious
intention. Or perhaps a
strangling in shadow.

239.

Through the door comes the
sister, lit up to reveal
her grown now to his

own size, fitting the
guitar as bone's extension
filled out to hands now.

238.

Then echoed out by
the flicker of candles held
for prayers beyond.

237.

Long since out of tune,
the thumps of each press transmit
a beat's intention.

236.

Next the Father tries
to emulate their sound through
the irony of

the church piano,
trapped and muffled by distance,
from the room next door.

235.

The echo of sound
calling itself a gentle
hued foreshadowing.

234.

Here, between empty
faces, a warning transmits
like a lullaby.

233.

A boy with an old
man's face plays a guitar, while
his twin sister in

opposites, folds her
long fingers across several
open bottle mouths.

232.

On average, they say
that there is a suicide
at Niagara Falls

roughly every two
and a half weeks. So where do
all the graves empty?

231.

Treads their soles on the
scuffed pavement of a distilled
dream. And calls them love.

230.

Now she just steals head-
-stones of ink and marks them as
her heart's epitaphs.

229.

So girl stopped drawing
curved fantasies on her flesh.
Quit believing in

hope drawn carriages
on the carefully etched dawn
of all her spent (k)nights.

228.

Then blew a strong wind
of denial over the
corpse of their union.

227.

But he still broke them.
Scattered veins in the desert
of his empty eyes.

226.

Said he would cherish
each careful design like a
dream of forever.

225.

Boy once said that he
was infatuated with
the sharpie drawn hearts

peeking out from
the ripped knees of girl's faded
and well worn through jeans.

224.

Stuck in the morass
of emotion's quagmire, left
to a slow drowning.

223.

I view the compass
of your heart's lost struggle from
a hollow distance.

222.

Under the cover
of your mouth, I see myself
coated in passion.

221.

The marks of her chains
hold you, an indelible
embrace's hostage.

220.

Only voodoo can
do justice to the union
of all held within.

219.

Crawling along the
meaning of a slow heartbeat,
stuttering under

the weight of its own
anchor. Where shovels have dug
so deep, just psalms work.

218.

Each flutter of tongue,
making me beg for either
salvation or scars.

217.

I tend to run from
the seduction of how you
speak soft in razors.

216.

Those moments flew like
they had wings when the seconds
counted them as ticked.

215.

As the shimmering
excuse for night showed that your
eyes were etched stones from

a cemetery,
tomorrow's voodoo couldn't
retrieve time marked from.

214.

Blinded in viewing,
seen like a lonely man walk-
-ing backwards with clocks

drawn on his face, that
canvassed my heart. But what was
missed time's shadow.

213.

Softly stroking the
underside of intentions
until focus met

your feature, shining
like stars against the tar black
surface of this dank,

obsidian piece
of diseased history, and
I was diverted.

212.

It slunk along the
glass with tentacles and grasped
care like a small leech.

211.

Toward its belly,
meaning spilled out like a song,
dripped in sludgy oil.

210.

Coming up from the
depths of a soul, shaking me
in hypnotized steps.

209.

Characterized by
the dulcet waiting, a hymn,
reverberating.

208.

Where this framework of
inching events began to
again feel like love.

207.

Where mute, I could do
nothing but watch this movie
cast in memory.

206.

As dumbstruck in awe
by the undulating waves,
I stood motionless

too long, and it all
enveloped, sucking me down
into the stilled scene.

205.

The colors were so
fathomless that even as
each stand went missing

to the eye of its
beholding, another one
erupted upward

to take its place. With
delusions an ovation
to all existence.

204.

And together, like
carnival clowns, we fell down
into its passing.

203.

It was as if the
sky had stopped moving. The air
sucked the deep black in-

-wards, and folded its
corners, edge against each edge,
toward the center.

202.

Softly subtle in
eye's design, immutably
telling me all the

secrets held, through all
the ridges of gentle breath
trembling upon mine.

201.

As our tongues finish
their touch together, molding
meanings like such clay.

200.

Caressing the plains
of fractured screams release, as
you eat my soul in

every desperate
cry, passed between the fragile
meeting of our mouths.

199.

Heat's trembling motion
convulses the air in sharp
gasp's thrusting spasms.

198.

Here, our bodies curved
into the hollows of each
other, is soft love.

197.

You confound me in
soft whispers that braille tender
nuances in hushed

tones which mark, ever
so indelibly with the
weight of your body.

196.

Trying to find new
chambers to carve into the
fired synapses

of this idea's soft
memory on the canvas
of our heart's contours.

195.

On the cycle of
passion repeats, in this slow
motion dance of limb's

synchronicity
across the divide of our
spent capillaries.

194.

As upwards, piece-by-
piece, we move together and
through one another.

193.

Ensuring that one
can no longer even un-
-tangle the barest

of thoughts without the
cacophony of feelings
reverberating.

192.

Where even the choice
of direction in limbic
systems become changed.

191.

Wrapping the mood of
each slow movement across the
framework of this scene.

190.

Here we jump start the
static electricity
of our skeletons,

until the atoms
inside learn how to tandem
with their own mirrors.

189.

Our bodies meeting
to try and match the machines
of heart's together.

188.

Where, together, our
eyes show that nothing matters
beyond the glint of

ivory tusks in
the moonlight, just waiting for
two mouths to press close.

187.

A discography
in motion, set with you stand-
-ing upon the press.

186.

As here, I wait for
you to drink me straight through to
your velvet soft touch.

185.

Your face is a dream.
Pressed down in its own ideal-
-ism sifted in-

-to a new type of
architecture and spent back
through this mapped distance.