PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

We are the last of a dying breed, you and I

I recall, every year being a sideshow at your carnival

The girl with the funny clothes inside the dunking booth

You threw spears at me, I am not Jesus

But I realize now the sacrifice and embarassment of

dying so high on a pedestal



I have seen the doubt leak out of you

the same way the night leaks out of

the moon while it is in heat

And I will go primal in your arms

I will be savage in this ritual of candles and brown skin

You will know that every intricate move I make will

be in an attempt to capture you



So, if you didn't know, this is your love poem



If I must end,

may your hands be the daggars to release me

It is my prayer, that when I leave New Jersey,

I shall be dead or I shall be the knot in your stomach,

keeping you tied wearily to me

I pray that I be dead, or more alive then

the babies being born as I even speak these words

whom are gathering like a town council at the cliff of

your answer