Vulture

Down, down, I funnel
on the carcass of Prince Charming,
slain by poetry and mid-night wondering
into the darkness to glean,
gathering the strings of dreams
put on hold
for another spoonful of depravity.

I smell of woman

I smell of woman; skin lingers on the tongue,
Dry mouth, wet lips, and thoughts loiter on.
Scared, lost in hair and night;
Found in arms, tense and tight.
Driven to reveal the hidden
Tracing curves with light tips–smitten!
Need I apologize to the girl I might know
And this girl’s groom as he screams “No!”
Before this darkness binds us.
our conscious finds us as
We fall down.

God, please forget.
All like a dream now?
Except the regret.