Awake (Poem)

Smother me with pearls my love.
Feed me your lilac stream.
Stir my fever and catch me at the joint of slope and valley.
Whip me to ice warmed heights.
Bare my soul and lay open my bashful beginnings.
Answer my timid confession; hypnotic and canonical, I crave.
A preset fire entreats my desire and inaugurates an ancient journey.
Starlight carves up chance for escape and breath shortens – delicate, pleasure-cycles.
Night breaks my freedom to refuse; stomping into submission my morals and my escape.
And I transition.
Embracing the sliver of happy coming that ends its pulsing journey.
Miniature excuses split on the rocks of unrestrained passion and blades of silver lift the knighted user to excess.

Smell.
Beat.
Rhythm.
Domination.
Fantasy.
Stop.
Exhausted on a field of broken delight.

Shock.
Sleeplessness.
Paranoia.
Expulsion from streets of gold and cloudy sidewalks; St. Peter’s gates slice closed.
Rivers dry.
Lofty thoughts sink identity’s horizon.
The path is cleansed for excess and the frothy milk of purity has set aside the stench of belonging and expulsion.
A caper.
A dandy.
Street cred mates with sensible judgment and gives divine consequence.

Lace up desire and throw away stock answers.
The two cannot meet again.
But go as fraud – as charlatan to puritanical examination.
Arbitrate the traditional role of inquiry and reset the jester again.
Heart is virgin but carcass is want.
Void.
That is what they say.
Expelled.
Confiscated by love’s wolves that once threatened only from the woods.
The sepulcher churns.

Escape my blow, narrowly missed and caught ragged on the wing of bias.
Critic, narrow your sight and take aim at your journey – black and wry in the blotted face of clarity.
Reason, sorry with dormant journey, scolds repentant seasons spent dried up in the mouth of loneliness.

Awaken spirit and broach new senses.
Understanding.
Definition!
Taper the line and vituperate the cross.
Efface the timeworn stein for fear and welcome the burgeoning passage of light.
The serpent spits on the face and opens the steamy fragrance of life; filling the cup of passion and entreating the rhythm of the unborn.
A connection never to be forgot is satisfied and hands over the given place.

Split middle and narrow flight.
I hesitate at the opening crush between old and new.
I am in the middle of the aisle for life.