Mindfuck

I want you deeply
Wholly
Within my head

Forty Fathoms

Absorbed

And when we kiss

Submit soft lip to lip

Absorb that vital charge

And waltz electric

Reel backwards, inwards, onwards

Heavy eyes, once opened

Succumb to mist

See in yours cloud lifting

blood bath

Deep Tarocco sanguine
Flowing steadily faucet-wise
On my back I watch my toes rise and curl
Raise my hips upon my palms and point
Up to a fleckled ceiling of swirling shadows
As the candles flicker as a whisper
escapes my lips:

"The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars"

Half in smugness for recalling the line
But most because my muscles keel
Splayed, I sink into the lapping tides
Overflowed gushing crimson makes wet
And did you know the hands are barely visible
From the bottom that is,
And that the bubbles were uniform at best
but still made an adequate beard?

Dry

Cloaking dust
you land like
sweet silk shrouds
upon my
aching shoulders

Light as death
carry me
star-bound
on high
and release

Superunleaded

I'm going to fill myself up

Superheaded

The Agency (Weird Dreams III)

I am turned
Oh so easily
By the flutes and the petit-fours
And the grandiose staircase swirling
Here, to the higher ground.
Exquisite, the genteel flow into us
Diaspora, Diplomat, Distingue
Basking in soft-focus as the petticoats rotate

Carousel

I am turned
Oh so easily
That I barely notice her take to the stage
Floating ethereal, so delicate she is almost transparent,
"The Agency is delighted to welcome..."
And her voice melds into the fray
No matter,
I shall find a new, nubile siren to carry me away.

But I turned
Oh so quickly
As the smack of a shot slapped the wall.
Stock-still she stood,
Propped rigid against the baby grand.
Her mouth just parted, when she saw the blood
But what a pretty picture she made when lit from above:
Fingers splayed across her breast,
A milky gown turned ruby-red
And rosebud lips gave way to great crimson tides.