the Vapors

We'd get so high,
project the foolish
and let the vapors
run us ragged.
Our incantatory 
howling an
extension of
iridescent smoke
plumes.
Parched and
pining, we'd
sip sublimonade
from circus spouts
and own up to
the awful,
as our tempers 
would allow.

The act of
incinerating
barriers
lovers never
broach is wild
work.
Those days are
of a kind
safer minds 
may never know. 

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Wishing when

I spent my life
wishing when,
that spell whistling
at my heart.
A tug,
a tear,
and all the frosty drag it holds.

That bitter cold
a balm that numbs,
and reflecting
that a feeling
is more than
some quiet alone.

I accept that
ever after is
nevermore;
these things ourselves
tell us
that then shed
rhythmically asunder.

Each beat is a probe.
Our heart,
it's faithful prole.

And tomorrow,
as well as
all to follow,
will the frigid
beg for friction
and I beg alike?

That curious she

That curious she, lithe and in peace.
Wielder of favor --
        her influence one with the power of fitful beauty.

She's afore me now.
And through her will bound in supposition,
enchanting on wings of fortnight fancy.
While intensely convulsive during her
paternal rituals;
I, the target of her amorous charge,
am infected.

With her shadowy gaze she states:

Dispense with your grace dear,
for sweet speed owns this union.
Tomorrow, as yesterday, brings new light and love.

Stay regret, however, and stay passion.
Brevity and honesty will the heart to
a calm repose.