Incineration

The hands that held my bony structures

The fingers that moulded unto my skin

The moist lips that held me captive

Touching this tear-drenched flesh

Through my ebony strands it caressed

Down my pointed chin

Sending a soft whisper

A melody of our sin.

Those eyes it gazed and it stared

Melting my own glimpse

Burned with its flare

Wanting, longing I could hear you confess

Without your lips parting

Warm, inviting, teasing with threat

A smile curved on your mouth,

Romancing.

The touch that sent my blood cascading,

Enticing.  07/31/08

Tearing a Piece of Paper

It came, words cliched by careless mouths.
Betraying the hopeful romantics.
Trying to make the unpeculiar erotic
to the ears of the damned,
to the eyes of the weak.
Looping, curving, every loop hangs.
Penetrating the vulnerable, the hopeful.
Confessing a sin-to-be.
Confusing the hopeless---hopeless romantic.

Black Diary

Like the books I ravished for censored content.
Like keeping my eyes shut but my ears open.
Like unillustrated pages with sensual phrases
seducing the imaginations creativity.
Beholding innocence, capturing what's natural.
Feeling guiltless of bygones.
Savoring the unknowns.

Like an Empty Can

You drank me all,

drained to the bottom.

Held me with those hands

eager to quench the thirst.

With that mouth  you tasted,

every sigh --- satiated.

Each gulp you take,

wanting more,

like cocaine, like drug.

Then you were filled.

I,--- empty.

Left --- empty.

Crushed by the palm that once

held me gently.

Just like that,

A fluid to quench thirst.

Now I am no more than a can littered.

A Dreamer's Lament

I am a dreamer
Alone and unamused
Wanting too much
of nothing much at all
Daring to dance my life
away in a dream,
Censored and scorned,
guilty about everything.

I want dark and the moon
so I can fake a smile or cry
and change almost everything
Even plunder a love once lost
or imagine it mine.
I can dance on a string,
bleed on shards of broken glass
in a fluid melody of carnal ecstasy
in a dream,
in a dream.

Wilt, dry, time.
Perpetual nebula_You.
Dream, whispers, ghosts, screams.
Sanity, weep, Reality torn.

Screaming Infidelities

These things are holding you down

things inside your closet drowning you now.

Sleepless nights, every memory

of you and me our wordless vows,

Wake and break you, thought you could escape.

Screaming infidelities inside your head

taking every bit of sanity away

Tossing and turning in this empty bed

Wishing I was with you instead.

Little voices cursing, screaming your name

Mental images of you and me

I could not escape

the thought, the memory

The feeling now living inside me.

Your scent lingering in my head.

Bringing back crumpled sheets beneath us

those wordless breaths that heat us

through and through.

You were strong and I, weak.

Knew all these would come and go.

Now shadows of footsteps and silhouettes

Reminders of when the heart was bleak.

And your voice though distant

kept calling my name

And no, I could not escape you,

I have no shame.

And your voice though distant,

seemed so loud

Your breath warm against my skin.

And no, I would not escape you.

The thought, the mem'ry,

The feeling now living inside me.

[ Wrote this on an earlier date.-Kimj]

On Faith not Religion

On gospels sang on Pavarrotti voices
and dead miraculous beings praised with threnodies,
the unknown, the supernatural and most often ridiculous.
For the entire plague of demons set forth to scathe
the all-the-more evil mortals,
the gators and crocodiles of society,
the conspirators of never-ending theories,
the boiling mouths of proficient superlative word-mongers,
the hackers and innocent violators,
and the narcissistic beasts,
and toads on make up.
All applauding the anorexic mind.
All hailing the rotting dilemma of this alien race.
The alibis from squawking ducks of Mars.
And heart breakers of Juno- you thought Venus but no, Juno.
On the unintended relief of the end of the movie Inception,
the fingers tapping on the same table my groggy head lays dead.
In the belief of the seven deadly sins.
Like living while preparing for your own demise.
Bloody mouth stuffed with dirt
and the taste of it sticking to your tongue for days.
Like wishing you were dead but they say it's bad.
Like wanting to disarrange a face
or knock out a toad on drag.
Like roasting his soul in a barbecue grill,
even the thought of it is bad.
Real bad. (Smile)