Thursday, November 15, 2007

wishful thinking

he will never know how it felt;

you waiting

wingless wonder of a wishful night

or the tips of your eyelids

wet, from knowing.

he cares more about the gloom

the curve of a dissenting incubus

than the lips that you will always


without regret

he will never loves you beyond the burden

the cold shoulders

the double guessing

the things that throw your axis

into the abyss.

if it is silence he seeks,

he will find you,
star struck
and windpipe torn,

by your own bloody self-less hands

while you search the distant and absent eyes

for a man that works well with his hands

takes pleasure in holding the small of a woman's back

in his embrace

before cradling her face

and smothering her breath

with his own.

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