Haunt

I felt through the ashes of this dragon’s keep, sifted through ancient treasures and ancient djinns.
Here, I thought I felt old whispers lick and scratch at fingertips.
I glance upwards, the old tapestry wailing in dim moonlight.
I thought I felt blue eyes press deep and down, breaking nerve and sinew.
I felt through the cracked linseed of this dragon’s keep, sifted through forgotten treasures, regret and dream.
And here, I thought I heard the whisper of a name, an old tune grown old with age.
I thought I heard your soft fingers chink through metal gate.
I felt through ancient stains of this dragon’s keep, through moth-mottled treasures, secret memories falling away.
Here, I thought I saw the faded dream of a figure, old sunlight glare and shimmer.
I glance down, a withered gray of wrinkled age.
And here is where color fades, memories turn, and old age yearns.
A candle rests far to the left of me, and do I wait or do I dream?

Awake

A sliver of the moon,
his tale grows out of tune.
A tale told in virgin’s blood
and I awake, a deadened soul,
a once bloomed white rose bud.

A man above me,
eyes a storm, a fury
of everything within me,
everything but love.
I gasp but shove
and it’s too late.
I’m awake now, I’m afraid.

Oysters

And there you were,
there you were
Across a street
made of anti-gravity
Oysters down the lane
and I hope and pray
Hoping you’ll turn away
Shadows resonating
All around me
And there you were,
there you were.
Shadows mean so much to me.
Whisper more than speak
of how much you’ll miss me.
Turn your face away
Dip and turn, away
from me. But kiss me
before you leave
Kiss me down and deep
Before I forget, regret
slivers and I can’t forget
but I forget when I’m with you.
And there you were,
There you were
Oh baby how ‘bout we just forget,
Let regret have its day.
I keep falling forward
Shadows lurching up and down through
So keep me company
And keep me laughing
I’ll keep you close, clinging
When we should be running
Anti-gravity
Never said we’d be more…
Anti-gravity never said.

Snip-Snip

Haven’t concentrated much
Sorry to say,
You smell like heat and rain
and I’ll fall in, falling in
Before we even began.
Before we even wrote Start and End
Bookcases stand upright
while I hold my head high.
A thousand stories replay
Our song tonight.

Kiss and hold and bite
But you’re so tight
Too rough, too much
Too full and not enough.

Silk

I turn away,
I face the rain,
I feel you above and beneath,
Secrets I play hard to keep
and keep secret. Instead
I look down, the sheets are red,
Stained in story, stained in blood
I turn away, below, between, around, above
Such brown eyes spin me deep
In and out of dream and sleep.
I sigh and whisper
I won’t remember
and skin tugs and aches
Brown by brown
Deep and dark and down.
Remember the rain.
I remember and I ache,
Muscle tendon, synapse, and brain
Hoping I’ll wake up again.

Remember skin,
Remember sin,
Remember images torn away
and dreams both grace and craze.
Remember the rain.
I remember eyes so brown
They’d bury deep, etching
Beneath my heart, to drown
in crazed ecstasy.
And here, between push and pull
I tug towards you,
Deeper than passion
Stronger than love,
A gift from hell above.

Idrico

See, it’s a different sort of rain. The rain seven hours away always begins loud, brash, and bold. It wants you to notice. It wants you to pay attention. The clouds command your attention, but they’re such a hazy gray, you take notice anyway. There is often no sun to cheer you, but wind to remind you that there can be no rain without its lover, the wind.

Everyone bows their head, most hoping their glasses won’t get smeary and teary eyed. This almost never works. Some girls wear rain boots, and others still wear thread bare sandals and one wonders how they pull if off when there’s mud everywhere.

The sun sets and the rain reflects light, droplets of light that splatter all over the pavement.

The best kind of rain though, is at night. You’re at your computer, when a whisper begins outside your door. A soft whisper really, mostly unsuspecting. You open the door and at first it’s so dark that you wonder what that whispering sound is. You can’t always smell the rain, but it whispers instead. You can’t make out the words, or the stories, but you can hear it. The glow from the streetlamp gives the rain such a surreal, warm yellow glow. Droplets of light that disappear when they fall to the pavement. Thunder lets out a low hum, and it should be frightening, but it isn’t. The wind is soft, only a tickle of air against your face really. You can feel the droplets when the wind whispers through, but it isn’t annoying or smearing your glasses. Simply a gentle reminder that rain and wind are often lovers or friends in Denton. You lean against the doorway, and the smell hits you oh so slowly. It’s strange, normally the smell hits your nostrils first. A stray thought wonders if you’re losing your sense of smell. You’re not though, you’ll smell the onslaught of rain in the morning after conveniently forgetting your umbrella in the car.

The smell pools around you, the sound pools around you, even the vision of rain itself looms, never quite hitting your senses, never quite an onslaught like it was earlier. The rain whispers at night in Denton, such stories does it whisper. I cannot fathom the voices, I cannot quite hear the tales. But I hear the gentle whisper, the soft tickle of wind, and I see the droplets of light that disappear on their way towards the pavement. The rain does not admonish you for your lack of depth, for your lack of deciphering its many, many stories. The low thrum of thunder, lightening blooms in the distance, and you are aware of everything and nothing. It is a soft feeling, a soft fathomless feeling you cannot put words to. Not surreal, but deeper, emotionless, but filled in such words as to be wordless. The soft spray of water nuzzles your skin, and the wind picks up. You turn away, closing the door. You linger at the doorknob, as you shut the heavy door. You aren’t quite sure what you feel, you never will be. It felt so close to home, and yet…that sort of rain can never be contained.

Femme Fatale

I am divine and sublime.
Killer of men, hearts, and mind.
From calls of a jealous sea
her sirens have heard of me.
Wind-swept earth, torn-drenched society
have heard my heart, beating shamelessly
with righteous tears soaking
pale ground beneath my feet.

Tell me, my fool
how you wish to claim me?
When passion, my lover
and art, but dear mother.

Tell me, my fool
how you dare contain me?
When heart my birthright,
Love but a fool’s plight.

Sirens heed me and do so shudder
wailing behind their surging mother
Love my foolish, incoherent guitarist
never understanding my fatal prowess.
And I the muse of golden men who
Seek someway to rid their souls of me
Lashing out towards the sublime, seeking divinity,
Consumed within their words of prose and poetry,
And what they find
But I, eternal, divine, sublime.

In-love and nonsense
do I reign best
Prose and poetry
my silent jest.

I the killer,
the heartbreaker
fatal tale told
a thousand fold.

Power unmatched, always sought
Femme oft snatched, but never caught

Tell me, my fool
how you long to be the one?