its Sunday
and my breath sticks inside
my shirt,
humidity claws as sweat
rolls
beneath white tees,
curled edges
showing femininity
as eyes are devoid of heat

baggage sits itself
beneath blues
and i
rifle through
pulling comfort from the shade,
red tinged lines
like mazes
as i shield myself
from all that i know too well

arrive by five
the heels of your boot
rise on the smokey
well of stairs

and the squeal of
the brass workings
on the stolid door

your a comfort to me
glide across the room
as the slash of hot sun
bathes you
the mercury
steady

dig about in the old fridgedaire
and haul out the cold remains
of Vodka

tip back a thirsty throat
and the peach coral
lips suck down the
remaining ounces

I have ridden on a hell bent comet
Its fire plumes burning the bridges
I left behind,

The asteroids, which followed behind
Had the names of Gods bringing the karma
Of things not so kind

A star of redemption came out of the sky
Shining bright with a truth, my icy cold eyes
Could not recognize

A path laid with lies
Would not be easily rectified
With truth and light

Star of the icy cold
Can you burn away all I know
which was forged upon the burning coals

Meat

He expects her not to feel, 
believes that she is simply humanoid.
Shock fills his eyes, 
When reality emerges from his dilusion.

She is the sum of childhood vulnerabilities
an amalgamation of experiences.
Has the ability to love unconditionally,
even has a brain.

He is able to separate heart from his groin 
In the pursuit of an erection.
Disengage intellect and feeling,
To receive satisfaction.