you offer me
everything,
silent.

the moles on your chest
i'll take
with the blood
blister
under your thumb,
which is mine.

i would injest
your blood, your spit, your cum
have it dance
of infection
under my skin,

which is yours.
under my smile,

which is mine.

she would hold my hand all gentle finding fingers can fold in to each other and some can turn to fists and fight but these things we'll find on the path to come or maybe we'll just find each other, hands clenched to hers/mine, hands weak but ready to run Together.

"why would anyone want to change You" she said.

and i laughed.

and she meant it.

pretty a poem as yet unsung, free to ride the wings of my own creation-and yes pictures seep through the cracks i see some crazy images only i could chase staring through my closed waking eyelids. but at least it's interesting. it's always fucking interesting. and i am not frightened of visioned voices maybe it has something to do with my ability to break dvd players with wandering thoughts maybe i am a gift maybe i am my own God, my own something to believe in.

Happy.

some live in ideas
bouncing around
between mindlines
and printmines
i live by
the feel of a breath
i live by
the sound of a voice.