December 23, 2010



The air overhead is clouded
with questions that should be falling
from our mouths, wetting this dream
with reality.
I have not turned
but something tells me
I'm laying on a swarm
of cracks and crevices,
like a bad case of fragility
is about to envelop me,
and I would come out
as if strained
in tear drop pieces
on the other side.
...pulling the pulp
out of my beaten heart?
Folded into the middle
of your bed
I cannot tell if I am holding
the right side of you,
if I will be your angel
or your demon,
if you are a sleeping beauty
awaiting our first kiss
or a victim
I should spare.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Who are you Mister Mike? A prince in disguise? Those words are just amazing. I love them