Night-mare

Sound of thunder
That surges violent storm of wakefulness
And will flatten our frowning bedsheets
Of stringent terror seizing sinews
Neath her bounding of silvered heels.
Lightning will lay scorch as it travels
Bolt through bracket bones of bare flesh
That hovers amassed in silhouette stature
Like blackened skins of clouds so lofty.

O’ lumbering lady of mirth, now eclipsed
Take the groaning bitter of darkness
And saddle now its poignant promise
Of broken dawns we’d yearn to see

Cast recall of dreams you mounted
Failures flung from whithers so steep
Thrones of kings brought crashing at her feet
Buckling at her fetlocked mercies
And of blissful hopes now trampled
Soft memory blown through her muzzle
To breath of howling storm, exhaled
From blackened belly nursing your dreams

Lady of moon and macabre misgiving
Will thunder in nightly swarm as you sleep
And spine of bounding mane, entangled
Stabbing fears deep into psyche
That laces regret through formless memory
Of the rider you once knew.

Lie-ability

It’s easy for you to claim that it’s truth
Merely bending onto its own frame
Perfection at its best
And nothing else...
But not for me.
Bitter be last of those days
Swooned over your slicing of syllables
Days of vaulting those virulent vowels
You said were harmless...
Beauty set to sleep by your rhythm
Razor of grass as blades of your tongue
The bullshitting babble buttering your lips
All gone
With irony, that synchrony of motion
Writhing hip touching hip as you parted
Slits of legs to give you liberty
With all i had left...
Nought but frigid breath of lies
I devoured thirsting and trusting your depth
Could sanctify truth
Ungodly, and lied to
Like puppet clenched between your fingers
Bending must be heaven for you
And hell beyond that brazen fantasy:
Everything I’d ever wish to see
Can only live on the tip of your tongue.

Temporality

In this world
Eternity begotten, not made
Forgotten
And played with
Far too often.

Years are yearning
To have you back
Between their jaws
To grinding pulp
Of bitter moments
You pressed within

Months become monsters
You cringe at counting
Twelve to 1
Three-sixty plus 5
In this world
Days be numbered
Dates on calendar you flip backward
Do lie closer than they seem

The hours are "we time"
Between us only
Keep it like this
Or loose what it means
To love
To be

A minute, just that - minute
Miniscule
Misused
Muse
And gone

Seconds don't always
Give second chance
Make most of them
For first time round
Is last you see
In this world.