Synesthesia

I shall remember the taste of your quickening heartbeat,
The texture of your voice,
Because in you I see the sweet smell of a Jazz piece.
Making me feel all the colours
And hear the flavour of your skin.
"Please don't go
I'll eat you whole
I love you so, I love you so, I love you so"
Sensations intertwine,
Because in you I hear the comforting feel of a long time.
Clarity at last in a fool's mind
Sounds, aromas, colours, textures, flavours:
You capture my whole consciousness.
Because in you, I'm a synesthete.

An Apology

I was once told that I apologized once too much.
My "sorry"s depreciated,
Unappreciated,
They no longer alleviated the hurt I caused.
She told me this.
She left.
I apologized.

It had to be done,
There was no other road left open to me;
I fucked up.
Doesn't mean you should forgive
But I have to say
I really want you to.

My apologies are sincere
And even though my personal torment cannot dry tears
I'm a fuck up.
Doesn't mean you should forgive
But I have to say
Please do.

I realize I tend to raise expectations.
I do so much right,
Say so much right,
Be so much right,
But I in the end are what I am
Fallible.
Doesn't mean you should forgive
But I have to say
"I'm Sorry."

Aevum

Have you ever Watched a Breeze?
Or the Formation of an Idea on One's Brow?
Realising that what is just Empty Space..
Or Just a Face..
Is Quite Full..
Powerful.
Damning.

Or the Flow of Time.
Though I am skeptical of the Future.
As I see more Now, and a Hope that Now continues.
And in this Continual Present,
Time, the anarchist, smiles..
Watching as Order grows into Disorder..
Reveling in Entropy.

Or The World...
Moving Monotonously through its Motions...
In an Eternal Pirouette
Entertaining itself with its Inhabitants..
Probably not Considering the Consequence of its Whims.
Not burdened by Duty...
Just People.

And in the Quite Full Empty Space
Seeking the Powerful Just a Face,
And the Hope of Continuing Presents,
But a few Years of Time's Entertainment,
The Light Burden of a Dancing World;
We Stand.

Preadormitum

A Vague Concept, or... or.
Or a Memory..
And if a Memory a Lost One.
Not quite Amnesia..
More like a Forgotten Dream..
A Forgotten Dream..
Dream.
And those are?

I'm Bobbing my Head
So There Must Be Music.
Like the Bass of my Heavy Eyelids
and Orchestrated Yawns.
Music...
Leading...
Softly Rising,
Rising.. and
Falling...
Falling?
Falling!
I'M AWAKE!
I'm Awake..
I'm..

Drifting.
Daily Drifting..
Living between Hypnic Jerks
Mind/Body Out of Sync
I'm Missing Something..

It's a..
A Vague Concept..
A Lost Memory..
...

Deathbed Roses

'Tis Mankind's Tragedy;
Loss is both Necessary and Unavoidable.
Adding Insult to Injury,
Like Life in itself wasn't Sufficiently...
Fleeting...

As if it were Manure..
Like we are supposed to Know
We should Grow More..
The more Shit is sent our Way.

Life is full of the Reminder of it's End.
Death and Decay...
Ha..
More Manure I guess.
Though I wonder...
Will They still Love the Rose,
If they Know the Rose Stinks.

I Think Not.

Death, Loss, Tears.
A Little Water on the Graveside,
Songs sung...
As If He Heard.
Then Again..
The Roses needed a Bit of Water.
And I Hear Singing does them Well.

As Painful as it was...

The Days of Manure and Teardrops?
They Shall End.
For even Deathbed Roses need Sunshine.

A Death.

There was a Death in the Family
Excuse me if I Choke Up...
Not that I have any Memories of Him,
He was a Cousin in My Youth
But have you ever met a Man at His Funeral?

You ever seen a family Mourn?
Well.. You ever seen Mine?
We're loud though,
But We Cry Silent..
Silent like a Heart Attack in a 25 year old,
Or like a livid mother,

Or a teenage son.

Have you ever Met a man at His Funeral?
Seen his Sin's mother cry..
Well a Beautiful one, Both of Them.
A Sin overlooked and a Son accepted.
Like Father like Son..
Only the Father Lived Longer.

And you and I know a Beautiful Woman's Cry is Potent
And if you didn't..
Fuck you.

But Please.
If you Want to Meet A Man...
hehe...
I guess I could word that better.

But Yes.
Meet Him Before His Funeral.

Freud

The Thirst.
As the Hormones Flow
Logic Ebbs..
The Great Sea of Swirling Energy.
Longing, Passion,
Viewing the World in Black and White
And Anatomy in Colour.
Lust of the Eyes.
Interpreting, her Shape and mine
Flowing with the Tide.
Saying in one ear,
Whispering.
"Let's Tessellate."

Libido.
As he called it.

Now, I am no Oedipus,
And She no Electra.
But the Id demands that Thirsts be Met,
Hungers Quenched,
Fixations Realised,
Pleasures Explored.
And now neither Egos disagree.

And Libido's tides Crash loudly against the Bedhead.
Moaning Melodies of (Over)Indulgence
Muddled Conflicts,
Yeses and Nos.
Melting Together..
Painting the Ambience Visible...
Whether on Rose Petals or Concrete.
Same Picture.
..
Libido, The Pleasure...
Their Crests and Troughs
Paint the Heart's Pulsing ...
May it never Flat Line...
Then the Audience Cheers as the Ceremonial Glass is Raised.
Then we Pretend to Drink?
Because the Thirst seems Eternal,
Does it not?

Whenever that Oral Fixation Sprouted 
And Love became all Lip Service...
Though Time won't tell us.


Pleasure Drives Us.
He said.

And Now more than Ever...
He's Right.