cannibal
after november
blind
to not be numb
dream (four times)
forgetfulness
angel
first morning
laconic
drown
deep
maidenhead
milk
this
wake
dark blue
rotten scorpio
little v. flea
from me to you
exit
dry
the lines left behind
guilty
sever desire
falling slowly
esperando
dark spiral
sparkle
confetti
bodies pound beats
A mystery
of sweat and intuition
strong and quiet
(like himself)
His painting has wings,
it is an angel.
Scarred skin,
it shows each painful slash
Wears them like courage.
And inside,
inside is light --
glowing, pouring out,
consuming me, making my
cry for it -
And I beg him to take me,
make me glow also
Cut me if necessary,
make me beautiful too.
Crushed down into my fingerprint
is the scent of this love's fluid,
linseed oil;
Intertwined is the scent of another.
And at his hands,
I too
have wings.
4/94