For you, no damning written wishes
and no fancy whirling walls
‘Cause these amorous addressed letters
make lost ghosts of those involved
A faith in coupled fates doomed
by my voodoo pen
Can we break this concealed curse,
hiding our letters in a den?
If we swear our love is false
and act a fight out on the stage
Can I one day make new labyrinths for you
winding down a page?
Or should I burn this verse to heaven
and never spout another tale
So we stay tracing each others skin
letting our bodies rhyme in Braille.
For a man as mad as Ophelia, no faith in believing
Is their any place to dine on this evening?
A man whose lovers; like flames to the ceilings
Be it just a shower to douse this bereavement
Or a flower to lay on the face of deceivers
I think not roses or pansies will woo
Nor to tally a plane as fighter pilots do
Because this Red Baron is not ordinary
A smoking propeller was not enough to bury
blood spattered coat carries a beating heart that’s blue
But this lass marks me diagonal across four lines abreast
and is gone with a gust, a scorched spot in sunsets
This hardened man who knows the spoils of war
lied with ghosts on the beach, Death in a trench
Sighing here sore a verse in one breath
is there no angel or demon to give this heart rest