poem 106 of a poem a day for 2012

 what a soapstone siren does at a higher frequency is part of it

wash, rinse, repeat

a favorite wear

tumble dry low

in the rain

seduction is induction

to lying on the shelf

so I drink until

I spill my guts

and seduce the shadow self

with the name

of every plaything imagined

shy as my eyes are too

full of want

full of myself

so lock away

your unwanted because

I enjoy the challenge

of breaking and entering

I enjoy finding all

that have been left

to wither on the vine

so that I can breathe life

into me while

at their ripe ends

perhaps with a curled

slow trace of my fingers

in all the bouquet-color of sin

or I could just let the Sun

back in through

the window again

and wear this smile too

that is not necessarily a collar

or a pin

though most know

submission is the easiest

way to the

I am so inclined

to be worshipping

at your altar

of copulatory

painted canvases

where every eyelash

is a brushstroke of another Dawn

peering over the shoulder

to snug against an out

the window look

I hope I left enough of me

in here, in there to keep

while the muse just reaps

our music

tilling the silences

between our heaves

yes the muse

takes note still

and eats

every trail crumb

home from here

crows

will beg

to put murder

in their divides

with all that I have 

and who is still

left to do my dear

they know I too

love to peel

the fragrant petal-stink

of the morning after

and mix it into

each spill

I remember

to leave

for my palette board

when this moment

breaks

it’s spell

so we laugh

in our coffee cups

and know

every day

is laundry day

in some part

of ourselves

and because

we also know

it’s raining

this morning too

you decide

to stay in

my warm mud

inside my ritual  

of beautifully dirty

just a little

while

longer

like I like

to do

EJR ©