zebrasindenver

My castle is my studio,

my sword is my pen,

my smile is my charm,

and

my heart,

my heart is simply your toy.

A passive participant,

sits, listening and watching,

to laugh only to himself,

watching you burn, and then rise,

when you invite him he arrives, and when you ask him he replies,

but he shall not seek you out,

even when you hide,

as he cannot draw you out,

from behind your beautiful lies.

Amber wine,

black eyes,

and a blood red bill

from a yellow bastard.

Even the driest hearts can be dampened by love,

or whiskey.

Istanbul, 130am,

They are shucking oysters in the street and you think of me,

And here i think you would never write, and here i think we would never again speak,

The last time we spoke, your order was short and your temper with me apparent,

And now, me, my beer and a message from the other side of the straight,

Oysters,

Montréal is grey and somewhat painted red,

So i sit,

Grey Montréal, Istanbul, and you.

Little white lady,

days fly, nights await,

you see me through movies,

you see me through dance,

you take me away and home,

when will you let me sleep,

never, and always,

your fiend.

Queen of Hearts of men,

The devils heartache in a suitcase stemmed from the death of our lords own poor child lucifer.

Hold openly your cries to jesus as he throws himself upon the cross and those that sail the sea to the end in search of my own dear heart,

that is broken into a million perfect pieces of love.

Into less, into more,

because of no gods, daemons or devils,

but you, my queen,

of my heart.

White sheets,

Gauloises,

a white cigarette lighter,

my white shirt,

and still your shit green dress hangs upon the dresser,

 bleach.

I can barely hate you enough,

for the way you loved me so.

Nor love myself enough to hate you,

to forever let you go.

The birds,

the dog,

the cars on St Laurent,

the rattle of bike locks against fences,

the rattle of bike locks over potholes,

the voices in the street,

and the steps of joggers on pavement,

and then me, quiet in my room above,

 with the sound of my fingers upon my keyboard,

and the all sounds of spring below.