"Star Crossed"
It's dark outside
and we have no audience.
I suppose these are the moments ...
one presumably could afford to miss.
Nights when raindrops trickle
to serve well as visual distortion
now observe diminished portions.
Two singular.
The child's finger frantically tracing
the images in her brain
displayed beyond her window panes.
Streaks of energy
drawn from affinity untamed.
I barely know your name
but I wonder how you sound
reciting mine to request attention.
Contention so simply ignored
that no afterthought was stored.
You burn bright to command my sight.
Knew nothing and expected less than.
We can ignore the streak
but the remnants will linger.
Maybe that child's finger
will document our impending collision.
Vision is a loaded concept, after all.
The fear of falling once so ever present
is now relegated to the essence
of what memory will not acknowledge.
Knowing that you're glowing
makes the fall much more enticing.
Your inviting hue as you blew past
fast enough for blinks to rob the anxious
I instead chose to experience in one breath.
Left to my own graces,
I'd likely pursue until
the faceless you offered countenance.
In my confidence, forever is less than adequate.
So we soar high
and we fall fast
and the light crawls.
We've let time pass
too much not to take full advantage.
I have perceived you too rare
not to plot one's path toward.
If only this weren't so hard....
We know what we want
and learn where to find it
but never plan for what sits behind it.
In my most powerful of influences,
I still doubt I'd have ever drawn
close to anything that resembles you
and for that I am fortunate.
A rare sight before these willing eyes.
A surprise I've grown familiar with.
A love warm enough to feel
lifetimes away before seeing it for real.
You appeal to my dreams
with the very mystique
that child observes in the streaks
that decorate the sky at night.
Color bounces then fades behind you.
If fortunate enough,
I'll be traced to find you
up high where the stars can't climb.
Our own atmosphere
and should the day come
when you would again cross my path,
I intend to draw you near.
Streaks of glow that crawl forever.
In our distance,
we could care less about stormy weather
when we fall together.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Dreams I Can't Remember"
They looked on and then scattered.
Glass shattered
as makeshift molotov invoked dispersion
alongside tear gas
and the flash of burning vehicles.
I want off now
but I can't pinch myself hard enough
to divert my vision
from the endless river
filling the streets much faster
than that August afternoon nine years prior.
So I sit here and observe
nerves pushed past the brink
whilst I sink into the background
silenced by the sound
seen in mouths that scream
inconceivable fear and anger.
Danger all but a conclusion forgone
for a multitude of those at home
with martyrdom and misconception
misconstrued amid the deception
that their last resilient purpose
is to hide that they are nervous
in honor of a service perceived
to achieve a goal that
they drive further from in unison.
I just want to sleep one night
without the plight of this life
threatening to drag me under altogether.
All together,
they implore and ignore simultaneously
to satiate their sacrifice of sanity.
The charity of "may they rest in peace"
followed thereafter by anarchy in the streets.
The plow and pillage
of a village responsible
for their own sown seeds
and the direction those roots will reach.
This cannot be reality.
This....tragedy.
I frantically await the day
when the sun will impart rays
to free me from what I imagine
can only feasibly be a fabrication.
Did I drown from the water
splashed across my face
like the blood that has traced
the very trenches I reside in?
Should I rive in fear
and shed tears with those
whose clothes are tattered
with loved ones murdered by the guns
they now refuse to relinquish?
Time far from extinguished and I'm drifting.
Can't seam what seems
and can't see through this sea.
Tumultuous tide embracing me
as I float away helpless.
HELP ME.
I NEED TO WAKE UP.
For viewers who love to shake up
the reality and the outcome,
where their mouths are from
and why their speech shouldn't be free,
chosen strategically until upheaval
gives way to a wave of people
who we've seen routinely tarry
suddenly rally around a common hatred.
The chosen weapon against this faction
a well placed media distraction.
Some distortion in generous portions
to salve the numb with pop culture
while the battle lines are drawn.
I myself used to fawn over such a sight.
The trend of nightly sounds replaced
by the demonstrative pace
of footsteps overflowing with vigor.
The bitter taste of rage
torn from every page
as if there was a deadline
for one to capitalize on headlines
with some nerve to lash out.
Gone are the days
when one would look to hash out
a much more amicable solution
without the call for retribution.
This revolution was never fantasized.
These shoulders have grown weary
and I can barely stay up.
All that surrounds me is dreary
and I've no will to raise my head up
to reveal misty eyes
far too exhausted to cry.
Should I gaze upon anything else,
I would look up to the skies
amid this trouble and discomfort.
Not with words to say.
Just in cautious delay
waiting for God himself to say
whether or not these are our days
or if I'm still sleeping........
.........I can't tell the difference anymore.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Delivery"
I'm here on my back
and you voluntarily can't breathe.
What we need acknowledged.
Honest and bare.
Would swear on it all
that I wouldn't get that phone call.
It obviously was never enough
to simply eliminate the bluff.
Stuffed me deep past airways
like days trapped in limbo.
the window barely predicting patterns.
Like a lantern's wick embracing flame,
your name escapes my lips
like embers drifting from the furnace.
Furnished well across this bed.
No clearer head for what we've said.
Vision fancied and enjoyed
until tangibly employed.
No repentance.
Toyed with senseless
and it all made sense to we.
Shape and color happily distorted
in lieu of what we've purported.
To this day, I still can't ignore it.
Recollection of my body contorted
in surrender of released tension
that you'd ambitiously dismember.
Understand why I choose to remember....
Grasping moments daily
where time can stand still
whilst I briefly relive the thrill
of a fine mess well made.
Cloaked under the thick shade
of racing minds and your eager lips.
Gently kissed the tip
as you latch onto my hips.
Soaked lap and cool air.
fist full of your hair
and guidance all my own.
You knelt at the altar
just to knock over the throne.
Home alone in welcome company.
Hopefully, no one would come for me
before I did the same for you.
Siphoned my soul whole
and replaced it with a new
fresh
exciting
enticing
igniting of fire I never knew existed.
Couldn't resist even if I had the nerve
to ignore the time reserved beforehand.
Your hands.
Surveying the surface with precision.
Timeless movement under conditions
that most would squander in anticipation
but not you.
Watched you fondling your fixation
with a purpose only disclosed
after seeing that the morsels of your labor
never make it to your clothes.
Closed mouth well fed.
Still on my back. Spinning head.
Nights since then my skin glows red
sitting at the edge of this bed....
....thinking about all that led us here.
If it never happens again,
rest assured. I will remember.
This I won't return to sender.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Blender"
You try to ignore it all
as it falls around you.
You focus on me. ...
They look over to see you
step down from that pedestal
like the Herald of a diety.
They praise you like the celestial
and mock you like the harlots they indulge in.
For so long I was sickened.
Listened to their invites
but was quickened to say no.
I'd rue the day that I would go
and here I am spinning this gaunt story.
You feign intrigue and flaunt before me.
The surrounding taunt my measures
and rationalize their guilty pleasures.
Treasured nothing of this manner.
The theatrics hardly matter.
Pretty girl here twirling faster
swirling helpless as men chatter.
Fatter pockets dictate time.
Scaled back reason. Salvaged rhyme
to flail before them like wind chimes.
Make this fortune in your prime.
Get this money. Start the show.
Hide that tarnish. Make it glow.
For the years that tears must flow,
Do your best before you go.
Mess of millions marked and bundled.
Watch your step or you might tumble.
No breakthrough for damaged goods.
Count it up then place your hood
overhead and avoid strangers.
Day to day an increased danger
from the ones who rob and loot
to those looking for recruits.
For so long I was sickened.
Eyes become hands and the plot thickens.
Meeting them at a premium.
For certain, closed curtains are costly
but only one can afford it.
No one will ignore it.
On the verge once you emerge
to observe the newly intrigued.
Besieged under their teeming enchantment.
You can't but they know you will.
They've laid rumor to your skill
and expect you to act accordingly.
Your name and age are secondary
when the main stage becomes necessary.
Faceless angel with a past
somewhere buried under cash.
Flashed a bit under the spotlight.
Hid the pressure on those hot nights
when cold liquor takes a spill.
Trembling hands outline their thrill.
Gaudy shrill in all the rapture
of attention I have captured.
They cheer on. I take the chance.
Lucky me for this lap dance.
They implore that I enslave you.
No intent but I won't save you.
You've no true interest in me.
Do your deed. Collect your fee
but glancing back, you just may see
where my hands and eyes will be.
This service.
Disservice.
A little nervous.
Eyes fixed on
fawn and the fixture.
The meshing.
The mixture.
Lasting picture of each day.
Pick it all up and walk away.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Movement"
Amid the stars,
you reach out for me.
Painstakingly,
I recall past instances
and even times more recent
when I perceived your efforts decent
enough to believe they were sincere.
Crystal clear one's vision
whilst the other darts between
one gleam after the last
dashed glimmer of hope
destined to revert to particles of smoke.
Dreams so dry and deliberately driven
marred by the shelf life
of wishes previewed and unforgiven.
Your eyes are drawn to the shine
but can't manage to muster
what comes of those clusters
once they begin to lose their luster.
Now your murmurs find me.
Within the moon's reflection,
you call out to me.
Tone and inflection
once inviting...
... enticing even.
Sufficient more so now
that I remain derelict to your requests.
Your quest for recovery
a rather inconvenient discovery
of one's penchant for incompetence.
Compliments stalled and angrily sprawled
under the increasing disbelief
that our interactions could be this brief
even when you display grief.
No creaking desire to salve
and I won't open the valve
and I can't always be there
and trust me: life isn't fair.
Well,
neither is love for that matter.
Now you pull away from me.
Under the brilliance of the sun
you feign your contempt for me.
The burn.
The churn.
The malaise in every phrase.
So pretentious. Clearly fazed.
Grazed your fault as you vault
over fence lines and chain links
we've forged at the brink
of our nonsensical pattern of behavior.
Time the only savior remaining
for one so inept at retaining
an inkling of realization.
Our farce is your fixation.
Yet I ask if you think of me.
Lit wick and slow burning fire.
It tires but it will not die.
I don't even ask why anymore.
This lonesome chore of recant.
Said that we can't
but we do
and who are we to judge in the first place?
Told truths about love in that first taste.
Distasteful displacement.
Kept pace with each other's transgressions;
ready and anxious to dish out lessons
that we still have yet to learn.
That foolish yearning for a destination.
No room for transformation
when one seeks out transportation
instead of the will to stand still.
We fit the bill of overkill.
I guess you're mad and confused now.
Me too. Nothing new.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Masks"
Us in our current state....
...... too late.
Very little about us
is sufficient in this setting.
I tire from the unrelenting:
repenting after repeated trips
through the black water we've waded in.
Dark matter followed by nervous chatter
barely quelling a flame that shouldn't burn.
So turn away from me.
Please.
I don't trust myself.
I need your help.
Amnesia hoped for to no avail.
Desperate ambition so frail.
Pale the pigment of dashed will.
There was once thrill in hiding;
presiding over each other in conceal.
Skin worn this thin reveals
to the glancing what we shouldn't feel
so we drape ourselves in torn restraint.
The discomfort a necessary accessory.
Despondent accompaniment of the essential.
Even as we've laid here bare,
my perdition is hanging over there.
Recalling days when we treated fear
like foreplay before the blind.
The kind of mockery none are proud of.
Love harder to find with garments removed.
Proven true in how I still look at you.
Would deny myself before letting you see
these eyes so dry from evaporated lies
that I still cannot rinse clean.
Inadequate that we be seen together.
Weather too perfect.
The birds have flown on for the evening.
No torrent for purposeful distortion.
A small portion of time granted
that should have been recanted
for the sake of those involved.
We are what cannot be resolved.
We prod.
We poke.
I provoke.
You dishevel.
We choke.
and regret.
and repent.
and resent ourselves.
They sit on shelves
like ornaments for celebratory means.
Still their disposition disposable
for one's dangerously wavering countenance.
Compliments collected in fashion
whilst working to save face.
I now grace this world with a shroud.
Once proud of what the sun illuminates,
I now await the darkness I wasn't fond of.
Found love and confused it.
Used it to an obscene degree.
I can barely see and breathe
but this cloak you cannot read.
Restoration crushed like seeds
under feet tangled in weeds.
Preservation of our leads.
Blind before me yet you see
so I disguise to meet the need.
Please understand.
I'm sorry.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Systematic Strain"
The fear is out.
That means the ear is out of frequency.
Public indecency in the form
of a profitable norm
that we have yet to recognize
and I've no reason to sympathize
with the often uninformed.
This ignorance is uniform.
You don't need case in point.
You are the bullet point,
the frame of reference
and the evidence to support it.
Recall when anthrax was purported:
Still couldn't pay the taxes
and the stamps still aren't free.
That envelope was for me
but you opened it anyway.
Threw mayhem into the fray
so the government had to say
it was an epidemic manufactured
under the backers of biochemical warfare.
There's always war somewhere.
The canisters and casings in large amounts
are only days away from the bank account.
Fear is profit for malevolent means.
Dreams become nightmares.
Despair much more tangible
than the hope we cast aside thoughtlessly.
A world of fortune found in the notion
that we can't survive the scare
or we can't go anywhere
for sake of being quarantined:
taped off like a new crime scene
and it will be the headline.
There must be a deadline
for dishing out decrepit dissemination.
They claim to inform the nation.
They want to "keep us in the know"
while they show those tears
instead of saying show no fear
and be intelligent about it all.
Now we sprawl
and crawl
and run away
and say "GET AWAY"
to those just as misinformed as we:
lack luster personalities
who could care less about your fear
or your tears
or the outcome.
They sneer and watch the crowd run.
Did more with proclamations
than a burglar with a handgun.
They'll claim the truth in a joke
just to watch you choke air back,
throw on masks,
tie your hair back
and dust off the safety goggles.
All the while, powers that be
toggle between powers that free
and messages that enslave the gullible.
They know what trends look colorful
and make no amends for
how the media presents it.
Resentment in every social media post
about a contaminated commercial flight
followed soon thereafter by fright or anger.
The newsroom your manger complete with
a trademark social networking pacifier.
Proud supplier of mass hysteria.
An area reserved for research
has become bogged down in t-shirts
and collectibles and banners
and a walk to cure breast cancer
and an ALS donation
is an ice bucket demonstration.
How well tracked are all the proceeds?
I'm done with tact so let me proceed:
Gimmicks noosed around your neck
when you could just cut the check.
Controversial yearly omen
and you know nothing of Susan G. Komen.
Years spent on research and development
and we've yet to reach a settlement
concerning a sufficient timetable.
When will the willing become the able?
Locked away one day
will be the remote controller
strategically set to Ebola
along with Anthrax
and other shock value relics
like venereal strains reportedly discovered
in a land where mothers cling to
the corpses of their fallen
and we're all in to find a cure
in countries where the water isn't pure.
I speak not from the realm of conspiracy
but rather from the angry hearts
and minds of those of us
who will not accept the norms.
Don't give me medicine until it harms
and must undergo a massive recall.
We Call You Out NOW.
We are not encouraged
by your medical trials.
Our loved ones are out on a fringe.
Someone may fly off the hinge
after a binge on your fear filled vials
but I will break that syringe.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Over Time"
As you are.
Just right.
Just ripe for the picking.
The hands move so slow
that I can feel every tick tock.
Thoughts rock back and forth
between the last and the next
embrace in a time frame.
A sort of mind game.
An office space chess board
and I'll move the pawns
if you tell the rooks to back off.
I'm back off and anticipating.
Suspense truly deflating
but I've lost no portion of interest.
After awhile, you'll walk by
and hopefully say "Hi"
and I'll have a response for once
better than this cheesy grin
and a stare that tells of sins
I'd commit with you in public settings.
Momentarily forgetting that
communication is a two person endeavor.
Mixed well within the trances
of clever advances
rarely noticed by those around us,
chance appears as if to taunt us;
flaunting shamelessly when we're alone,
deliberately dangling the bone before you
as if surrender is incentive.
As you wish.
Fish for compliments.
Acknowledgement.
Accomplishment of the biased.
Your favor my ace in the hole.
Some control is in order.
Wouldn't dare defile the borders
unless you cut the ribbon first.
No concern for the worst
when given the best chance
to quench our thirst.
Endless invitations.
Situations created against means of convenience.
Consistent yet overt
so I always wonder who's seeing this.
All in for the plans.
I don't need the risk
but we want this moment.
Said I won't be sorry.
I won't need any atonement.
Just the will to want it more.
Occurrences only explored
in my mind until now.
So the plot thickens
like this bulge when you bend over.
After this is over, we'll have thoughts to ponder
during business hours and nights barely sober.
As you were.
My oft revisited memory.
Obscenities once imaginative
retain seclusion but have become tangible.
Fanciful occurrences I've thought of
in detail adorned with deep yells
and fulfilling sighs..........
now completely before my eyes.
Well worth the effort.
Weathered the pressure
and held onto mystery tightly.
This cover is slightly blown
gently to the edges of discovery.
Concern yourself not with recovery
but rather on how long.
How long will it take for us
to replace this encounter with the next.
Passers-by in busy hallways.
Days trickle from the calendar
slower than your remnants did
before my unruly consumption.
The challenge is not in their assumption
but rather in their inability to uncover.
Lovers of the danger
that begets perceived strangers
given very little means but
still able to wipe the slate clean.
I honestly don't care
about who else has gone this far.
For what we do, I'll receive you....
........................ as you are.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
[Words]{About}(...) You.
"4 AM Minstrel"
My eyes meet the sky
under lies I pretend are true.
You for me:
A farce.
A fallacy I fashion into fantasy
in my most weary of instances.
Playful pretentiousness aplenty.
I purposely purport a penchant
for the pomp of passionate moments
that have never even taken place.
I wander in want
and wonder what daunting
depths lie before my imaginative emissions.
Conditions better served for story tellers.
Dwellers.
Sellers of secrets that stick
to the side of the brain
driven so far past insane
that pain is rarely an impedance.
I dream this and thrive.
I dive.
I fall in and sprawl when
I crawl into my fondest of fancies.
Glancing at the sky once again,
I grin when one would presume grimace.
Penance for the thinker:
Drinker of emotions laced with devotion
to such tasteless thoughts between
what the mild mannered would dream.
One would sigh at the mere sight.
The steam that accompanies what I envision.
Thoughts that glisten but are tarnished.
A far miss from most...
Most who would boast without hesitation
that the nature of their intent
for some isn't unspeakable.
Even so,
my need to profess is quelled.
So I yell to the skies with my eyes
as if it hurts to blink.
I think of what we'd do
and how much we could get away with.
A day with desire.
My pupils burn drier than fire
and I cannot maintain.
Eyelids close to calm the flames
and all that remains
are the embers of imagination.
No temptation.
No fixation.
Barely a trace memory
of how you smell to place with
how I believe you would taste.
No thoughts left to chase.
Just a face etched into memory,
some symmetry for sport
and your number as my very last resort
in case it all overwhelms me.
If ever I dared to call,
I wonder what you would tell me?
I usually fall asleep by then.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
[Words]{About}(Her)
"Insignia"
The wall is green.
Can't color your anger illness.
No condition for listless demeanor.
Sweet dreamer of sabotage
secluded in camouflage
haunted by your own shortcomings.
Accountability that of foreign plains
you'd never claim to tread.
Would count the times instead
of even the most obvious of blessings.
Dressing up before facing a world
of those who look past blush and curls
for some semblance of inner beauty.
Their favor you desire
yet you let the worst transpire
before those who bear no notice.
The depth of your spite.
Contrite never.
Only clever in your calmer musings.
Perceived yourself confusing
when engaged in internal conflict.
Coupled leisure time with
thoughts of how to keep them in the barrel.
The mind surely travels far
for what it stands to gain little of.
Lust for love
with no means of gain.
Just blame.
A name etched into the green
clean across the room from you.
Grievance all that you implore.
Those concerned ask for more
but "they don't understand."
Do they?
Who knew they had to, honestly?
Their daydreams of grandeur
you dismiss as blasphemous idolatry
until your chance at such is revealed.
Filled with emotions as thick as potion
climbing up beneath your chin,
drying up from deep within.
No lotion to greet the skin.
Tie them up to watch them faint.
Line them up and make it quaint.
Cleanest halls you wish to taint.
Washed the walls but not the paint.
Sit there lonesome over dinner.
Quash the Saint. Embrace the Sinner.
Spinner of dark thoughts purported
to the point of true importance.
Vengeful actions ill advised.
Will to wade beneath the eyes
of bound and broken, desperate cries
in some sick plot to realize
that misery and singularity
are non-productive forms of therapy.
The cost of clarity too steep.
You wash your face with tears they weep
and still can't get rid of the stains.
Guilt rests deep within your pores
to the point where you make sure
that the wall isn't green anymore.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
[Words]{About}(Her)
"Siren's Song"
Her innocence a laughing matter.
Usual chatter among men
who befriend her with ulterior
aspirations aimed at the interior.
How fickle the mind becomes
sitting next to its heart
still struggling to stand
within their contrived hands.
With every invite accepted,
the plan becomes ever simple:
They connect dots with her freckles
whilst complementing her dimples.
They grab and slap her ass.
Her pretentious laugh creeps out
until reminded of her past.
Now she's left to think about
where she may have lost herself
and how far back she must trace
in some lost hope of saving face.
She was taught to hide her fault.
Inadequate the sullen seductress.
Her will once fully honed
is no longer her own
when thrown against the wall
like the least of clothes worn.
Disproven are her stints of independence.
No country for the headstrong.
Told her she'd never last alone;
but few men would ever want
what most have prodded through.
Tossed about with little doubt
that she has a right to refuse.
Abused by big, brown eyes
and the broadest of shoulders…………
self-proclamed servants of mothers
that she playfully called "Big Brother"
that would love when kid sister
is forced to call them "Mister."
No concern to kiss her tears away.
A little less fear today.
Just moments of humiliation.
Asphyxiation of the worst degree:
A smile for all to see
mixed with laughter and cheerful banter.
Enchanter of the wholesome
hearts that know nothing of the lonesome
lines that mar the countenance
she has strategically hidden from the world.
Unfurled in silence after violent encounters.
Makeup on the counter
strewn between garments torn
that were worn to entice.
Her penalty.
Her penance.
Her price of admission
for guilt to remain trapped
beneath quilts eventually as stained
as the pain that coats her face.
The strain of tracing lines
atop the scars of shame unspoken.
Somewhat sufficient mask until broken.
Never chosen for her favor
unless her labor incites pleasure.
Treasure no one ever claims.
Trapped and throttled.
Marked and maimed.
Famous for decrepit deeds
that serve only to sow seeds
that are stamped out before bloom.
Whispers in a crowded room.
Her innocence a laughing matter.
Fashioned her the frequent punchline.
They fit her into time lines
for the sake of story telling;
sparking interest and intrigue.
Beleaguered with rumors that surface.
Left to succumb and forsake her purpose
before she ever truly learns it.
She now believes she's earned this.
She no longer fights to see
through this nightmare she calls her dream.
In her silence, she still screams.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
[Words]{About}(Her)
"Trees(Redux)"
The color of envy
you've siphoned within me
bled out into your quarters...
where branches
once viewed as borders
now carry the odor
that has defined your guilt.
Wilted in the thousands
are the flowers that have dared
to bloom near what we've built
and if plowed among the plenty,
I would wish at least a century
if guaranteed that we
would not share plains.
We have gained far few
than what "I Love You" can salvage.
The bark is chewed and worn.
The roots are ripped and torn
easily from such meager sediment
we've convinced ourselves was foundation.
What fortifies us now
I find no good will to murmur.
You:
The ever skillful converter
taking every farce you see,
digging up reality
to hide it substantially
beneath soil that rain will not acknowledge.
We have effectively defined bondage,
You and I
as a means of growing high
enough to pay homage to the Creator
while defiling the Earth
that verily proclaims her will.
Stand still and time will not.
It will eat until we are hollow.
You only follow nature's plan
until it demands reconcile.
Bitter bile our tasteless leaves.
They would make the starving heave.
They scale us until sick
then use us as the wick
to prelude their bonfires.
Love for hire
and affection stacked in bundles
chopped and tumbled into portions
until tossed into the ocean
to quell the stench of burning
remnants no longer deemed useful.
We were once so fruitful.
Ambition changes with direction
like the inflection of chimes
that dance under more violent currents.
Uprooted, we hope to start again
but the wind exposes all.
All that shakes will surely fall
if not firmly planted.
Your enchantment felt under my skin
like sap imparted from stem to trunk.
Used to scale my branches
as if in search of the sweetest spot on earth.
Now more fashioned as hearth
or as scraps before the furnace,
your earnest is an urn for me;
harvesting purposely
until I'm cast beneath the sea
without room for cry or plea.
If life would ever learn of we,
They wouldn't etch love into trees…………
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Burlesque Nocturne"
You stand tall in the blackness.
Scale tall walls in my absence.
Their hearts will crash
and you command their axis.
Occupational practice.
No flashes.
No cameras allowed.
Never a name endowed with stills.
You have skill
and intend to show me more than.
I your only set of eyes.
Feel free to close the door then.
Fancied you my private dancer
prancing about this dimly lit room
you have filled with your perfume
with every step you take.
Cared less if I were awake
or still somewhat daydreaming.
I'm teeming with anticipation.
You rive in my frustration.
I thrive on the elation
and you have yet to touch me.
"Suddenly" is nonexistent.
Surprise no longer insistent.
I persist and you take my time.
I insist and you let tension climb.
The apex so far from now.
I tug at buckles and you allow it.
Not one word spoken
but you speak louder in gyrations.
The vibration of synonymous pulses.
Likened you to frequency.
Finer tuning with each visit.
Limit slowly fades with each performance.
Inclined to new tones set
that threaten what I thought I knew.
Movement so concise.
So new.
Blew me away gently
to the edge of this bed.
Head full of things
I pray you've drawn no profit from.
Unspeakable acts one can't fathom.
My tongue you've claimed as ransom.
You stand tall in the blackness.
Scale tall walls in my absence.
Can't miss what isn't revealed
yet I still ask what is concealed
should I find reason to awaken.
I dream of you in closed quarters:
Your wet skin and black lipstick
complete with fancy frills,
arms exposed to the chill
of this room conditioned for comfort,
eyes that control the soul within
and heels that pierce the hearts of men.
Men who denounce your rare design.
Nothing benign in your approach.
We've drawn close enough
to warrant an embrace
but only your face is within reach.
Incentives granted with each
increment in our proximity.
I your only guest implicitly
watching you perform explicitly
with hands bound to my belt.
Felt yearning in your movement
in tune with my relentless hunger.
I can't breathe and that excites me.
Entice me the entire night.
The sun will witness
what your acts have garnered.
Power inconceivable.
Passion as unbelievable
as it is palpable.
Your lace illuminating
every place I intend to taste.
Under street lights our shadows flail
with energy, grace and rhythm.
They become whole.
They bend.
They fold.
They mesh so well with lust between them.
I have yet to see them worn
better than who leans in to me.
Could not conceivably pretend to be
as collected as I may appear.
I sometimes wonder what brought you here…………
…… standing tall in this blackness.
Still scaling walls in my absence
yet with no profit for you to claim,
you polish locks and chains,
bind yourself all the same
and let me find the key.
If the world was mine to own,
I would trade it for this moment.
The chance to graze hips
with the same lips used
to remove lapels and zippers.
Consumed by blinks and whispers.
Leather sticking to your inner thighs.
Look into my eyes
whilst I peel back this disguise
of dominance you've adorned for gain.
Break the chains with fervor.
Move free for me to see
everything I've yet to imagine.
I am your purpose.
You are my passion.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
[Words]{About}(Her)
"Mahogany Blush"
If this were hinged on necessity,
I'd be far less playful
when addressing my desire.
Wouldn't skirt around the truth.
Would relinquish all the details.
I'd be frail within your grasp.
Hands clasped to your arm
like all else seeks to harm me.
Instead, I am charming when I visit.
You're exquisite.
We know no limits.
Explicit jokes with a splash of truth
and a slice of fruit
beneath the ice cubes in your glass.
Is this what one considers class
or am I too crass to exude such?
Touch as rewarding as the conversation.
The elation you contain
I collect like grains of rice
before the waiter takes our plates.
Far too late to walk alone.
Besides that, we're in a zone
that lasted hours after closing.
Topics under your controlling:
Are my parents in good standing,
do I ever get demanding,
do I like Cognac or Brandy,
what's my favorite type of candy?
So varied your interest.
So keyed in on your angles
that you're surely wondering why
I have yet to tell a lie
so you can dig me out.
You hear what is said
but if you were in my head,
we'd have less time for talking.
Yes.
I'm that sure.
Selective with my confidence
to the point where my compliments
have become secondary to your intent for me.
The extent of your imagination
inflates to the point of rupture.
The flood gates briefly stalled
with crossed legs
and a head hung low
with one arm as its crutch.
You've barely concealed that mahogany blush.
Save me a smile to see
when the day robs you of the rest.
Pastel dress shirts lined with lipstick.
For your next trick,
a quick change in temperature.
replaced goose bumps with heat signatures
and I lay here within your cross hairs.
Friendly fire full of desire.
Clothes cascade to the floor
like casings flung from the chamber.
Anger and frustration before faces flush.
The rush. The tension.
Not to mention the aftermath.
Serenity meets wrath
to the point where they
resemble one delightful meshing.
Undressed all that stress……
…………all that annoyance.
Snide remarks and feigned clairvoyance.
Stripped down needless defiance.
Clients reaping all of your time
replaced by a glass of wine
and a lap strong enough
to compliment your curvature.
You sink into my hands
like crushed chocolate ready to melt.
Never before right now
have I known a warmth that felt……
………………………this constant.
No room for reserve
or the usual soft speaking.
I am peaking.
I peek in and you are leaking.
Brushed my fingertips across my mustache
like grass desperate for raindrops.
Saw you gasp and change colors.
Now I see the light
you swore you'd never show.
Well worth the time now that I know
how to make your skin glow.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
[Words]{About}(Her)
"Bifrost"
Sitting in my throne
the atonement I have yet to issue.
Pride the tissue used
to abuse truth and wipe it clean.
Gone are the chances
I presumed reserved for redemption
but I have earned no exemption.
Conviction has a life of names
tailor fitted for shame
but my outlook is void of guilt.
We are worlds apart
separated by a bridge built
between indifference and ascension.
Dimensions this life cannot profess
any manner of experience toward.
This life………
Hard by design but
truly maligned when
forcefully refined for those
who feel the need to be defined.
The incline is steeper
than angles slanted between planets
but the connection remains there.
Fair enough for the ambitious
but the stubborn struggle uphill
until it nearly kills them.
Filled them with the very pride
that stands between me and my throne.
Similar affairs have called you home
and I honestly would love to visit
but I will not exhibit
what I deem submissive in perception.
Direction known by those I train.
Even they notice the strain
and the redundancy it manifests.
They jest in secrecy.
No trace of meek in me.
Believed you sought to weaken me.
I knew better but
the regal standard bearer
will not be viewed as a trend setter.
Lonesome magistrate with less dominion.
Opinion in extent
is only lent to the constructive
who recognize it as a mere extension
of our emotional ties.
My eyes have combed the skies
in search of alternative measures.
I treasure your countenance for its rarity
but clarity in my possession dies.
Wasteful sacrifice for pride
that only ensures a slight change
in what I once thought inevitable.
Miracle may cross that bridge
two hundred times between us
before it pays me a visit.
I create the limits
and adhere to them firmly.
Terms have changed
that I have yet to acknowledge;
convincing myself that there is solace
in denouncing unwelcome aversion.
There are reasons why dispersion
makes the ground beneath us smooth:
Influence makes the planets move.
I am alone among millions.
Stars only serve
to illuminate this bridge between us.
Distance in deliberate fashion
has distorted my view
of everything old and new
except you.
Clearer vision would not
have us tarry here this long.
Time will not prolong
that which may fade with passing moments.
Without atonement,
I might perish in stubborn pursuit of you.
I've claimed more time than I should.
Made more excuses than most would.
This is the very least I could do.
I'm coming for you.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Noir"
She was the kind of strange
that made normalcy nonexistent.
Persist and you'll rue the day.
She threw the rules away.
Everything to say
contradicted me implicitly.
Complicity is not my nature
but it's not like I'm doing favors.
In her mystique I toil and labor
learning foreign nomenclature
that I may never use again.
Befriended her in my past life.
Fast life.
Whiskey in tall bottles wrapped in towels.
How the bowels of the city
remain dank and morbid
on the days she wouldn't tour it.
Poured Bourbon from my flask.
Spilled a little on her thighs.
Didn't even have to ask.
She'd just look into my eyes
and let me get to work.
Mini skirt an open invitation
to the brand of desire
that multitudes or whole nations
likely killed each other for.
Every store had a receipt to claim.
Most of them in my name
unless she felt that twinge of guilt.
Lust is how our house was built
but that rose would never wilt
that I gave her a week before Winter.
Dinner was another daunting task.
Beginner's luck would fade as fast
as the tip money that lined my pockets.
I found myself back then
tied to this same rocket
but she's not here to light the fuse.
She is the reason why
I don't really watch the news.
Confused with each report that surfaced.
I grow just as nervous
as I draw closer to the truth.
Could've chosen me to shoot instead.
The lights were dim.
The streets were hazy.
A scene so grim as this lady
laying lifeless on the pavement.
She would tell me:
"Save wit for the unintelligent."
It always gave me fits
because she thought I had an angle.
She likely never realized
how willingly I would dangle
from the tips of her manipulative means.
She haunts my dreams
with an overload of fantasies
I've presumed locked away forever.
Acts that I would never
even ponder in a public setting.
She's clearly worth forgetting
for the sake of sanity
but my love for her is unrelenting.
Maybe that's my vanity.
She saw love
as the greatest,
most decadent,
refreshing,
decrepit,
despondent,
fruitless weakness
that a man could ever show
or a woman could ever ask for.
My heart would beat my pants
to the floor when she'd say that.
She knew what made me angry.
Same things that drove me crazy
to the point where
I wanted so much more of it.
To forfeit in many ways is cowardice
but I found bliss when she took the lead.
Of any seed ever planted
in this stirring mind of mine,
hers was the darkest enchantment
that has stood the test of time
to this very day.
I eventually threw the bottles away.
Kept the towels they were wrapped in.
Pure and soft like satin.
Often took me back to a time
when white and black
was all the color needed
to appreciate the finer things in life.
Before I found her black heart,
I was privy to skin that flowed
across my fingertips like raw milk:
fresh and moist without blemish.
Diminished over time were the chances.
Slowly replaced with mere glances
until I'd get to touch her again.
Closest I've come to having a friend.
Never knew a more powerful lover.
She never met my mother.
Wouldn't bring her around my brothers.
Like no other,
she was dear to me.
Sweetest symphony
playing in the heart
of a man recalling the fondest part
of his one connection
with this world of twisted dreams.
Yes:
Love ain't always what it seems
but this life is in
no position to tell me better.
I'll never forget her.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"The Looking Glass"
Never considered the time
I've spent standing by this window.
Thought back to when I wrote pieces...
contingent upon which way the wind blows.
I was in need of direction.
Perfection my muse and torture.
Forfeiture my greatest fear.
Ink bled through the tears
on pages I've tossed away.
I found so much more
the day I lost my way.
Maybe that's why I'm still near this window.
Uncertainty the purest drive.
It is honest and pure.
Nothing akin to demure.
When the mind is unsure,
the heart takes center stage.
Love a lonesome discovery
when we taylor it for recovery.
We are taught to mend the patches
but how does one break the latches
that no witness saw secured?
Why so long just standing here, though?
This window.
Where everything within
already knows where to begin.
Friends viewed as contemporaries
far too involved to be contrary
when it comes to life.
Strife the shortest thought derived
when striving to serve outside themselves
to anyone willing to look in.
This window.
Where through a crack in the blinds,
I find one among them
that is not as brisk.
Does he fear the risk
or recognize futility?
Is he exerting his humility?
Nothing demonstrative before him.
He appears sort of postmortem.
Lifeless soul void of deliberation.
Coy in his search for liberation.
Drawn into some stubborn fixation
that keeps him facing where no one treads.
Threads unravel from these worn curtains
adorned in purpose for the self-scorned
so urgently still self drawn
to the window because I'm too nervous
to use the front door that never locks.
With each fiber that rips
I grip tighter to the truth.
Fruit of my fearsome labor.
Favors offered by many.
Helping hands aplenty
but no confidence in self.
The top shelf is no place for me.
Where the complacency
makes latency an end
that requires no justifiable means.
Afraid of not remaining clean.
Scared to lose that gleam
that was imparted when intrigue
endeared me to something as profound
as the sound of power etched in lines.
Through this window I have found me.
This view defines me.
I am sitting there:
afraid to care enough to go
because someone out there may show
me that I'm not good enough.
The rougher pills I'm scared to swallow.
So content with being hollow
that even my contempt can't nourish me.
Furnished well within my doubt,
I see me there but won't dare shout.
I might scare myself away from the window.
So we stay here
in our stalemate.
In my wonder
and my frail state.
We just sulk into regression
as all progression is stalled.
It honestly begs the question:
Was this a window at all?
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
