Poems: 230413 - April 23rd, 2013 (Happy St. George's Day)

[Robert Morpheal]

230413A
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I crave your beauty,
the way a prisoner craves freedom.
You dispense it
the way a priest gives last rights.

I think of you,
when my lips touch wine and bread.
You leave me
your scent upon the bed.

I release the petals from a stem,
the way your dress falls to the floor.
You tell me
every last one of your secrets.

I give you up,
to those waiting outside the door.
You curse me,
for that perfect betrayal.

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230413B
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They always say
they will be back,
but they never return.

Failed resurrections,
haunting
the usual graveyards.

Flag at half mast,
and fumbling the lanyards,
somewhere mid stream.

Fallen bones
tossed between stones,
and left nameless.

It leaves you numb,
and makes you cold,
but it takes away the want.

Leaves a midnight condition
of falling into a morning coffin,
stabbed repeatedly by the light.

That fever making you less ill,
than being infected
with the sickness some call “love”.

Either way it will kill you,
first chance it gets,
so you demand more anaesthetic.

Your memory book of scars,
serves as a reminder
as to how broken everything is.

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230413C
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Going for a curve,
tends to take you over the edge.
Another crash
in the continued demolition.

It is all pins and needles,
being stitched together,
having come completely apart,
the way rags are torn up.

You gaze into deep water,
and want to dive right in
hallucinating mermaids
where there is nothing but sharks.

You thought you had one,
when the line broke,
leading to drowning,
with nothing left to float.

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230413D
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You were the perfect one,
but you left too soon.
That isn’t the way
to really know someone.

I cannot get drunk
and stoned enough,
to reproduce the feelings
involved in wanting you.

There isn’t a path I walked
where I did not miss you
in some dark recess
of my denying mind.

I try very hard to forget you,
in everything I do.
It is like a wedding ceremony,
to one or another art.

I would have loved you,
if you had given me half a chance.
I wanted you to erase
the various types of bad memories.

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230413E
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It is and it isn’t, you know,
never knowing,
that I wanted you that much.

I still bear the mark of your hand
somewhere upon mine.
You left a lasting impression.

I always wanted to escape,
into your most private world.
That is the way it is with lovers.

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230413F
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I’m lonely tonight.
Full of all that forbidden wanting.
Various parts,
as to various types of contact.
I want to feed my starving senses
on you.

My hands are cupping your breasts,
fingering the nipples,
for no other reason
than the fact that they are your’s.
An awareness
as heightened as an acid trip.

I never told you anything,
about those murderous secrets,
that would have had you executed
at the break of dawn,
for knowing far too much
about the ways of this world.

I want every sound of your tongue,
violating my flesh,
for no other reason
than the fact that it is your’s,
and I would give you
at least as much.

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