Monday, February 29, 2016

"She Twirls In The Dark"

"She Twirls In The Dark"

A corner post distance
between myself and the spectacle.
Hysterical to recall
how often I've imagined this in detail.
Sheets frail and thin
accosted by the window
slightly cracked.
Standing back
as life moves around.
Enough light to see
how much we've never needed sound.
The most we've found
you've kept at bay
until today.
So dim and dark
yet you display.
I want to play.
Just laying here
with open ears
yet you won't speak.
Already missed the kiss.
I reminisce of things so sweet.
Hanging from you loose
but still tighter than the noose
gently snug against the curves.
You work every single nerve
and I swear I love it. 

I covet every minute.
Every second in my ransom.
Watched you handle it with care:
my attention something rare
that you have spun around your waist.
I taste the secrets in cold air
that you've dispersed
fresh from your hair
with flow and flare as you perspire.
The slower the speed,
the higher the greed,
the higher my need for exclusivity.
Exquisitely placed yourself
in portions
this close to my face
to leave your breeze as my nourishment.
Thought I'd flourish
with both hands
and a mouthful
but I'm doubtful
that I've known fulfillment
where the chill meant as much
with no eventual touch
as it did in moments after. 

Movement captured frame to frame.
I'm enraptured all the same.
Lapse in time but glad you came.
Shadows bounce on window panes.
Soft, sublime rush through my veins.
I'd lose my mind saving your name.
When sought for crime
and who to blame,
I'd do the time
if I could train
my focus on
pose at your disclosure. 

The colder this air,
the wetter your hair
yet you won't draw near.
Desire clearer
in the distance between us.
Tension I've denounced as friction
in my desperate frustration
now serves to pique the elation
that I express in audience. 

Only this
and nothing more.
Bore temptation to the floor
there with the garments.
Every score dismembered
rendered useless.
You still chose
to perform as if the clothes
threatened to dash or diminish. 

Watched you start.
Now help me finish... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Sunday, February 21, 2016

"The Venom"

"The Venom"

No noise when
the poison struck me.
Poised to
be toyed with.
Coiled around
after being drawn down
to this ground.
This soil
that I have toiled with
in hopes of eventual release.

No peace when
the blood boils.
Foiled my foolish fervor.
Manic murmurs you've
picked out with magnets.
Tragic how much opposites attract.
Haven't learned to retract such statements
so you sedate and subdue.
Made some black of the blue
that I wished would remain.

Struggling in the rain.
A tussle beneath torrents.
Scores of sores
on open pores
marked more than the needle.
I need all that
I was told to steer clear of.
Depleted when heated.
Running a fever.
This ether will not dissipate
so I long to participate.
Can't dodge the snake.
Embraced the fangs.
My solid state
of brace and chains
and love for lower level.
Lonesome less disheveled.
How much is due
to me from you?
I'm patient with the Devil. 

Ooze and seep into veins
until I sleep through the pain.
My train of thought derailed.
Blackest water from the well
refreshing to the mild and murky.
Alert and wild
more than the child
before spanking.
Hanging from the edge of hurt.
Feels like dirt but
it tastes like cherries.
Buried in my thirst
are the varied of my worst desires
conspiring against me
for sake of tasting the depth of this.

This cold sweat.

This brush with death
that one with any iota
would soon wipe clean from the quota.

No cries when
the eyes dim from constriction.
Condition somewhat dire
as these snakes conspire
to wrap around my hips.

No sound escapes the lips
that have grown puffy and swollen.
Control then cast aside
with my pride scattered in crumbs
replaced by what now coats my lungs
and other vital organs.
Fell in love with the jargon.
Spoke easy to ensue this sacrifice.
Affection on ice
along with what little
you would reserve of me.

No nerve of me.
No endings.
Just traces of the administered.
Prior proof of dosage
but even in diagnosis,
my silence does not promote this:

Laying here poised
with the poison
trained through
strained through
this filter of veins
for my maintenance of vain
freshly smattered with stains
from the overflow. 

Only you know better.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz