Good on Paper
art doesn’t look as
pretty up close
so paint my gray skies blue
with full words and empty actions
and sorries and promises
are easy to confuse
with compromises and a little concealer
aren’t love bites just bruises
by any other name?
would smell as sweet
as poisonous love potions
poured down my throat
while my mouth opens to declare
my unending love
that should end
for a person i just met
in a city that never sleeps
i’ll always dream of you
because a figment
is always better than a
fragment
The Lover’s Portrait
mimic
recreate
destroy
you would draw my eyes
pupils striking
irises icy
full of secrets, tears, mischief
you would sketch some silhouette
with curves
razor-soft edges
Aphrodite
Madonna
Gradiva
pen refusing to leave the page
turning, dipping, cutting silkily
press the print against me
marking your success
forcing your lines upon
My lines
don’t render simply into place
or drop chemises
or caress sterling skin
My lines
and I
jolt
bleed
fail to impress
Genesis 2:22
Taken from a rib and thrown in the garden, I was made for this.
Falling face first into foggy bathroom mirrors.
Winking through heavy lashes, squirming into damp leather skirts.
I say, “Love me, fuck me, buy me a drink” without uttering a word.
Beckoning with wide hips in tantalizing dark alleys.
Pour a love potion into my glass, I promise I won’t look.
Give in to the temptation, I promise I won’t scream.
“God made woman that man should command her.”
I was made for this; you made yourself into Him.
Just Another Romantic Sonnet
By any other name would smell as sweet.
Save that rose has been but ne’er deflowered.
From another, reputation soured.
Perfection upheld to man’s own conceit.
Was I shaped so as to have you complete?
Strapping heroes are but monsters shrouded.
Ignoring silence, consent be damned.
Hearing, “I, Dear Lord, am yours to entreat.”
Howbeit, romance doth protest too much.
Allowances made, pure masthead be wheft.
Do as you please, corrupt the heart you sought.
Consummate my love through merciless touch.
Petals ravaged ‘til nothing sacred left.
As I bleed, “He loves me, he loves me not.”
