the poem or the poet?

i fell into
my favorite beat
to hide there
for the afternoon.
i lust for this artist
whose beauty is
deeper than his flesh.
his strength stronger
than any of my muscles.
he prepares me
for a holiday feast
of obscurity and light.
i swallow his rhymes
so i’m no longer hungry
and my thirst disappears.
his twisted delight
exposes my affection
in each blasphemous jingle.
a hymn of the wild
on every page,
i sing it to myself
as a byzantine ballad.
i am born in time
to be amused this way.
before the curse
of forgiveness
as an act of kindness.
for this one occurrence
i am happy to exist.
i will let the poet
have his way with me.
he enslaves me
in his argument.
i concede
to his proposition
for fornication.
his words, not mine.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s