the man that liked leaving

 

 

I cannot say he loved them
he was a pale machine flapping loose as a belt
broken and at a loss for steady combustion
love oscillated in a fan of low mumbled words
and a chorus of women sang behind his back
sometimes he spilled a clarity for lovers
but only at the end, if some milky miss
of murderous rages admitted a love turned
sour as hatred, too hard to swallow.

he could turn pauper, seek a vocation of nothing
yet still succeed in the hearts of his ladies
what he wanted was the dazzle of new lips
what he needed was the lust for love to travel
and fall behind him, to rise in thorn less flowers
and disappear when he did and he only feared
the inevitable tightening of hands, the vise
of a delicate arm, the words of love
sticking to his insides in blood clots
destroying his free flow and movement
breaking his rigid rule and on the go going

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

my kind of guy...

[Greg the Bard]

Different for me in the works I've read before. I like it but would rather have more style to it. It has really great images but I found it hard to get off one image and into the next. I guess I need to consentrate more. Great Job!