The Purple

I.
And there she was, fresh from her tomb,
a girl with flesh eyes upon this bloom.
That gazed into a world she couldn’t understand
“Brave new people, what is this – man?”
The idea of a fallen warrior cast from God; a hero; a journeyman; a fixer; a doer; a seer.

Anything could capture her. Your knees. Your toes.
She would walk all night and not where she goes.
“Hold me into the vast,” she said.
“Let’s plunge into the deep. I’ve never experienced anything quite like when we sleep.”

And awaken, with bodies intertwined.
Hand holding hand, hand griping spine.
Out from lash undertow come blue buoys
Surfacing, then curious.

The skin is freshly cut
Grass sweet smelling furiously
Rejoicing in its own death.

“This never felt quite right and I had a right to say so.”
Who had known? Not she nor he.

The energy at any given moment is rushing into stardust saying:
“You grew worse through the ages. I saw your scars.”
“But you wanted this. You asked for it.”

A man who enjoys a woman’s pleasure more than his own is still struggling with his faulty design.
Go at once. You won’t come back again.

II.
Come ‘on baby. I’ve got two speeds. Fast and faster.
Hold on tight to my sheets or
Come weakened in the knees.
Next to you, I bleed.

“These nights don’t come for free.
For a fee, I’ll keep you with me.”

She had once wanted that. To be kept, I’m sure.
And to be healed by his righteous hand.
Never knowing how beautifully he saw her.
Locked up in snow bones spouting
“Stay warm sunshine.”

“So what does he take me as – a whore?”
Sure, but did anyone care to ask?
“How did you feel – used?”
“Sometimes.” No affliction.

How can a body love body but not mind love mind?

III.
You don’t see the sunrise as you used too.
But that’s what you wanted. To be a man. To have your brothers.
Your crazy lobe comes with the territory and the joy of never taming her wild heart.
Leave yours to beat in the spirit cage that you built with pleasure.
Made of suns and clean rings.
House code cracked
bomb a body on a body
leave the mind on a mine.

If the fates allowed could we unwind?
“I still think of the way your eyes once met time,” his hand twists torso pulling vines.
Lips peel narrow and kiss stabs sharp.
“I’m supposed to like this. This is my work of art.”

IV.
She’ll be free one day, you’ll see.
Present – not crawling.
He needs healing and has since the day he died.
“I’m an old-fashioned kind of manhood.”
Thinks those flesh eyes understood.
How body meets body and the mind is mine.

Press play for pleasure.
Perhaps she passively participated and
Became an object to be spun & won.
Who knows how many men have experienced what she’d done.

Like a Venus figure, held tight in the hand.
“I own you fleeting spirit.”
Let me wash off your sweat flakes with oil from my mouth.
Soak in the bathwater of your stain.

“Oh what I’d give to be with her in two.”

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s