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No hit, No Kiss
In the stocks again
the farce of a tired man
a spectacle of the square
straining at iron fetters
that have nearly rusted through.
Howl to an azure moon
that wanes to nothing as I hunger
for a taste of the sin for which
I am charged but had no hand in committing.
You approach me with utmost confidence
all sultry lips and sauntering hips
and brush a frozen kiss upon
my liquid, frothing brow
as delicate and broken as
a thousand snowflakes falling
under a solar eclipse.
My mistake will be forgotten
when the eyes inside awaken
an clamor for a vision of cocauphony
of muted gold and tarnished water
engulfed by a black hole
that was once my loves heart.
The trite sounds quite delectable when
pain becomes second nature
and it turns out that crime pays.
