Cock of the walk

I think you and I will be alright
like fireflies
we shall
ignite the night
nocturnal stars go nova as sunburst illumination rises from your body
razor thin borders no longer there
hunger artists turn slaughterhouse corridors into galleries of forgotten tales told tall into blood-meal, piss and shit
as copulation siphons days gone by
for future tense
full throttle death-ride
death-ride?
life-experience
living in translation
transcribing each other’s lives
no longer brief
winding all around a crisis of infinite proportions
among the portals of the whispering trees
in the suicide forest
where those still alive tether their spirits to whither and wallow
so, perhaps I may stay awhile and take your hand, transfixed by the coal set in your eye
nerves so tense
darkness becomes diamonds
cutting right through
to me
not noticing silk pajamas on the killing room floor
skin coiled up against me like a serpent
and I’m all too pleased to take a bite of your forbidden fruit
trading desire for inquiry
downlow obsession for upward passion
I’ll gladly run around your bottles by the pale moonlight -- all too aware you’re the devil
but
I can’t be your torch
as you wander through
wondering
can you carry the fire?
gun metal etched in hips