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Sunday 3 June 2012

Misti Velvet Rainwater-Lites


Love was a rock and then it was red.
The red was blood a bird at the glass.
I wanted him gone for good, gone from my head.
He came for a kiss and stayed for the mass.

All of me stale, broken, dunked in wine.

I knew his lips inside that prayer.
Over my tomb his cloud came down, I called it mine.
A kind of mist seduced the air.

Love was a ruby burning July.

I held the scorch against my breast.
It turned to ice and I decided to die.
I'm dead, now, yes, but not at rest.

Love came and smashed my glass to hell.

It rings long inside me still, an unkind bell.

There must be an attraction.
All those stars, scribbled down in black.
And the sun and Mars and of course the moon.
Easy as the marriage of sea and rock.
A lonely chassis rusting miles beneath the smirking bridge.
Fingers stained with formula.
The fool of cups, the one marked card in the deck.
Drunk on calculation.

Love Comes Panther

The dark is never deep enough.
The dark is no kind of protection.
Twisted trees conspire.
Blood tingles and screams its scent.
Love comes panther all sleek relentless grace
and prowl and find and devour and drip.
The bones laugh because the moon is fat and mute
a cool witness to casual carnage
so much unspeakable heat
and throb and ooze.
There should be some kind of law.
Love with its wicked jaw its grim unsmile its throaty purr.
Those flesh ripping claws so clever in design.
Jungles gleam pregnant with eyes that watch and cannot stop.
You cannot count the crumbs.

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