Sarah Vizzle (ladyofthestorm) wrote in smoking_beatnik,
Sarah Vizzle

Little King

This hotel room?
feels empty
cheap Merlot follows after
cigarettes, after merlot
after heavy sunset.

My mind?
dreams of pomegranate soda.
of sunrise.
of the beast beneath my flesh.
but mostly there is you.

These words?
just words.

But this moment is a center
and I'm going around in circles
tagging daydreams across tongues
of lovers I will never touch
their hungry iris morning
does not soothe me.

I sleep alone.
where you are swimming,
vagrant lonesome has coined my capture
empty box, after empty box,
after starving fool -
I dreamed we were together
believed in God - but just for a moment
tasted you tasting of strawberry
and woke as a liar
I'm sorry for the injustice,
you taste more like sky.

I miss you
like feeling pretty
pink velvet blankets
and plum baby food
Like inspiration intoxicated
by innocence, spiked punch
and simple majesty

This fire?
burns on empty
but when you're with me
I am lightning
holy thunder running through me
like the night sings to Song.

storming dry-heat
a hundred degrees of separation

frequent like pigeon
lonesome doves gone dirty
stalking and cawing at my speak.

I can feel your heartbeat
but I can't hear you breathing,
can't inhale the musk of your voice.
It is either tired or happy,
but I am sweating out frantic
the monsters all find me
and I'm chasing myself drunk
all alone

Seven days of this,
where heart meets horizon
but only that,
no full-moon affection
to drown sweetly.
no momentary cleansing
of the madness in my gut.

Baby, you make me dance
like the light of a candle
when the music's perfect and loud
or my eyes
when our lips touch - you inside of me
when our smiles are well answered.

This ache?
Just a moment,
a bat of eye-lash
and it's over.
Soon I will be with you
and we'll rest, and we'll rest
and we'll love.

I am stirring
lonesome lullabies linger longingly;
laughing lovers, lucid in my hair.

Close your eyes,
I whisper
over and over
I will find you soon,
and this poem
will evaporate
into a tiny rusted memory
where my mind will still
dream of pomegranate soda.

and these words?
still just words.
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