Breaking Irene --C.Dear Mister Gorgeous:Breaking Irene --C. by TwilightPoetess
Your fall-across-your-forehead locks
might be the death of me,
but I can't say I care any more.
Your heart might be cold enough
to freeze the air in my lungs,
but I can't say I want warmth any more.
Take my veins
between calloused fingers.
The waspish hiss
of your name
still slips through
like a mathematical equation:
once every ten heartbeats,
a quick stutter of breath
and a flare of fire in my throat
as if I've forgotten
how to let you go;
squeeze until my heartbeat
finds a way to match your own,
or bursts with the effort.
Dear Mister Terrible:
My come-drown-in-me eyes,
and come-and-catch-me smile,
have been the death of many a man.
And my fiery mind and fierier heart
have been enough to warm me,
to keep me through the cold, dark nights...
...until we met.
And I can't say that you care.
You've got my name
on your breath
and a bad habit
of knowing just where to hit
to leave the prettiest bruise,
I ain't waiting
for your next blow to fall.
3 in the AfternoonHappiness is when the door clicks shut3 in the Afternoon by wreckling
at 3 in the afternoon and sunlight
stalks in uninvited through the blinds,
making a sepia mess of the room, and you
are waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting
in the sunken sofa cushion like a lost
nickel looking to be found. The truth is
you found me, standing just inside
the doorway like a stray animal brought
home for the first time, imbalanced
ragged and confused. I stumbled on myself
that first time, making more contact
with the floor, tables and walls than I
did with you. In some respects, that
hasn't changed. I trip on my feet,
walk into walls and door frames still,
but every now and then I bump into you
and remember what makes this home, what
makes you home.
Current Residence: from desert to desert, currently New Mexico|
Favourite photographer: i like hands.
Favourite style of art: unpredictable
Operating System: I lie here and there.
Shell of choice: armor
Mode of transportation: dancing
Personal Quote: The most beautiful things are those that madness prompts and reason writes. ~Andre Gide