Un-forgiven.
Autumn,
cries the needles from
the pine dripping, with
song, when,
the green dragon,
uncurls from my lips,
fingernails black with soot,
to ask you, one question,
why did you look at him,
on this night of sanctuary?
The milk glass eyes,
of the slithering beast,
ripple with a bold response:
because you could,
because you saw me,
looking at his hands,
dark ink spilling from,
the center of his palms,
where he repeatedly stabs himself,
trying to contain,
the out pour of his veins,
are you thirsty for more?
I think,
he had been born,
for greater things,
than self-scarification,
yet he itches and burns,
beneath the scales of his
uncomfortable dry skin,
what has he found in his travels?
Autumn ignores the practical Stone,
in his belly, unfolding his wings, silver feather,
silver thread, the green dragon, his pet,
smoldering, in his cupped praying palms.
What do you see besides, the muscled,
faerie pixie dust of the past settling on
your eyes, bewitched, man of never mine?
My green dragon has crawled
up your thighs to rest before, between
your thoughts, while you plan,
to court the devil with a smile,
while all your boys at the bonfire,
are burning, black pole, black flag,
charcoal on paper, ribbons of words,
Do you not see,
the hurricane forming in your love's eyes,
telling you, a cautionary tale,
monsters are created not born,
Don't break his wings,
it'll be blood on your hands,
and this one,
the curiosity,
who has found his way to a
pew bench where we both sit
watching, waiting, wanting,
needs space to breathe, or
he will drown, in his ink,
strangled by his hands,
do not remind him,
tonight he is a man.
The green dragon, crawls back between,
my armpits, to nest, satisfied,
vamporous bitch, while
Autumn shivers in the winter rain,
closes his rain coat,
and watches the not-man,
smoke the sky,
numb to the splinter,
digging in his hands,
the heart says goodbye,
questions unasked,
I start the car.
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