Love-N-Bake

Tapping on windows,
you see the lights on.
A fire roars in the kitchen.
Nose in the air, searching for yeast,
nothing homely, not even grease.
Pressed to the door,
feeling the heat.
Awaiting your arrival.
Not knowing your fast asleep.
Thought you'd make a home.
Thought you'd make a feast.
You're lying with another lover.
I set the match close to your feet.
Through the window I watch...
My love for you bake.

Liquid Tongues & Mahogany Things

You catch my attention like the lit end of a cigarette. The way you etch into the space above me, hovering there. I want to inhale you, keep you close inside of me. The quick pulsing light of your inflamed state is that of your eyes. The flash of a cat-like reflex, you have instincts that might instinct me. You are a powerful glimpse of light, slashing through my sultry night. Make believing everything I see, in the corners of this place. Whispering addiction, you are a craving I just can't kick. Liquid tongues and mahogany things, there is a different sense to you. Like a cigarette, I reach for you - you share the light, suck me in.

HUNTRESS

The huntress locking eyes with the gentleman in the smoking jacket. 
No rifles in this forest of neon lights, boots slick with spilt drinks not mud. 
The dirt on the faces of everyone around is not a product of mother nature. 
The grime of secrets and infidetly worn like bullet links, a weapon appeal. 
The huntress looking like the prey, slinking around with all the right ammunition. 
Capturing moments with her teeth, on the rim of iced glasses. 
The potions are something sultry and pure, knocking out her smoking gentleman. 
There is absolute delight in the clutches of her hundred dollar manicured claw. 
The bait is taken, the man swoons with confidence and cockiness. 
As if  he has the upper hand when clearly she is on top here. 
The huntress loading his lip with the slick of a lipstick tube. 
The huntress tempting her own temptations with the snap of her heals. 
The huntress and the smoking jacket, forgetting the field in the dark of the night. 
The huntress comes alive in the night, with the support of the moonlight.

Take Up the Space Next to Me

The bright crisp hue of the sun on you has me enthralled with the day. There is a swiftness in your breath that puts me to rest while in your lavender embrace. And the way your body takes up the space next to me is quite respectfully appreciated. The way your voice seems like a prayer to me; won't you forgive my lack of clarity, oh the things you do to me. And the way the moonlight casts stars on your slumber puts me at ease and I don't easily sleep through a night in the city but with your warmth right there I am completely knocked out.

Diabolical Plans / Interesting Concepts

Diabolical plans and interesting concepts.
Find me a pen I am bleeding these thoughts out
of my head and I couldn't save myself If I tried, 
for the ink is running way too dry. There is a film that
has adapted to the spaces between my words.
This is where the passion blurs like tears messing up your vision.
Open wide, Sweeteyes, for there is something much
grander here than all these words and sugared lies.
I cannot persist without the tryst for you have made your bed.
Silly folk, with uncommon jokes, slowing down time. 
The decision to stay is casted away with the action of leaving.
All I can do is write about the unconscious decisions and glooming plans.
Not taking a stand because the lack of temptation has me sitting.

Gimmie Grit

What's happened here. 
We're all in a rush. 
Claiming we have somewhere to go. 
I want lightly light knooks with the best scotch. 
Forget the soda, son. I want to feel this one hit. 
Settling into the pit of my being, bring your cigarette box. 
Light me up, don't put me down, let the smoke give us an appearance. 
I want the straight shooter look with the leather taste. 
I want hotel rooms, destroying places. 
I want match book phone numbers and lipstick stains.
What's happened here. 
Everything so polished. 
Forget the disguise. 
We want to see the good time on your clothes. 
Gimmie grit

Certain Kind of Stillness

Wandering in and out of sleep, not because I want to but because I have to.
I must do this to myself to know that I am alive, or what I presume to be alive.
There is a certain kind of stillness in my soul that stirs me in it's minor notions and I can't take it.
The pressure is getting to me - the pressures of myself. I feel like I can't get up.
Not anymore, no more, will I force myself to get up, but then I do. I always do.
There is a stream, a stream within me, like I am a valley and there are depths.
I feel the trickle of my brain matter sludge toward the parts of me that want to 
be exposed to a different shapes and lights and different decibles of sound.
I wander in this sleepless state, floating and dirfting, there is a certainty in moving.
But then there is suddenly no where to go, no where to fall and you are at a stand still.
There is a moment that feels like an eternity, that keeps you there. Standing. Still.

Your Light Fills In

There is a short becoming in the way the light falls on your being.

It catches you, as if you were free falling, towards a pile of life. There life is gathered up real high, and you're about to make your mark. The light, it falls on your features, and captures you there, mid air and beautiful. There is a small quake as you awake and not many will feel it instantly But as you grow the tentacles of this quake will spread to each stranger you meet. They'll adapt, to the light, and see you for who you are. Their life will take on a whole new shape,

 as they sprout from stranger to friends or maybe to foe.There is a light, that will stay with you there, forever in the contours of your face. It will shine through your face, your teeth and your ways filling up all sorts of space.

Cavity Vocabulary

Their is a useless web of all your dishonesties spiraling within your eyes. You shield it with all your insecurities and a pungent social media disguise. Your vocabulary is full of cavities and your waist doubling in size; from hoarding secrets and making problems because you're of the fakest kind. Troubleshoot your problems and try to drop them to the side, fooling no one, I see the webs within your twisted spine. You're a different species; not a mermaid or even angel not an alien just the growing scum that clings to beautiful life sources. Whatever fills you up and won't take you down. Rise and shine you soulless mess there is no reason for you to confess.. For you wear your shit right on your clothes, honey take a shower you're rank.

You're Such a Sponge

there is an acidic rise within my spin 

and i cannot flush you down the sink

leftovers from my plate, a slime trying to 

catch the light - get rid of you from this place.

you're a dud, total flake, getting fatter in 

this place, gulping down everything you hear,

gossip whore from ear to ear. get a clue you

sneaky beast, take your soulless soles to the

next place, ain't got no room for all your stench.

you are nothing but a wench.

Attracted to Butter

A monarch on other flies, attracted to the butter. A good girl in a bad disguise, trying to get much darker. A trust fund with no trust, all the funds been snorted. A couple double dipping in other couples love spots. A fire burning all the keepsakes for there is nothing to keep safe. Swimming in a high glass, scotch without the soda to make you feel more at home. A skinny way of thinking and an obesity for the poison. All sorts of odds and never an end. Never ending beginnings and beginnings always ending.