Merciel

The girls blur under cloudy neon lights
as she struts toward me in crimson spiked stilettos.
Each step follows each bleat my heart beats
as she sweeps the darkness behind her.

She slithers into the seat beside me
and unsheathes her tongue. It parts my mouth
with “I missed you” as her green eyes burrow through my shell
and fish from out of hiding my heart.

She presses her ears to my mouth and swallows
my words like a supernova. They pour through inhibitions she shatters
with her fragrance, and she transforms
them with heat into sugar crystals she feeds
back to me.

Morning arrives when she coos, “You’re beautiful, sweetness,”
through a smile dressed in virgin white.
I rip myself from the booth and drop a fifty on the table
and mutter flaunting every fang, “You ruined the verisimilitude!”

I sleep
in a dimly lit room
with crumbling walls,
painted with supermen and
fossilized layers of dust.

I lie
in books half-read and
models half-finished and
black books completely
empty.

I hide
in an unlit closet
with a treasure chest of steel behind
a pile of
games.

I walked the narrow road to my father’s home
to collect my inheritance when a woman
in scant fiery leather and spiked heels snared
my eyes. She flaunted hills higher than the heavens and a valley
flooding with honey, a mane like a silk golden crown and a scent
like ecstasy. Her words coiled me and drew me closer. “Do you want
to play?” I feigned resistance. “I need to see my father,” I squelched.
“But it’s only noon,” she reasoned. “He can wait.” Two fingers shut
my eyelids as her blood crimson lips strutted forward.
“Let’s have fun.” Her tongue penetrated my mouth and drowned me
with a cherry candy taste and an alcohol burn, and I fell
to her feet. She took hold of my staff and led me down
another path.

I traveled the wide road of the kingdom with her. I passed
meadows with melons as plump as Jupiter and shiny
as stars. Women basked beside streams in golden lace
accentuating their milky curves. They licked their lips and pawed
at me as I followed my mistress. Hours passed
and I did not look back.

The bushes faded into weeds and hyenas started to follow me. I
whimpered and shrunk into a fetus, but my mistress turned and stared into me
with her dark earthly eyes: “We’re almost home,” she cooed as her lips
covered mine. Her kiss tamed my fear and rejuvenated my hunger.
I followed behind my mistress through the forks and the detours
and I did not look back.

She brought me into a moldy cubicle as the sun set. I lay atop
a bed of spikes as she lay atop me. “I could love you,” she murmured. Her teeth
pinched my tongue as her flickered against it. Her nails
clawed into my arms as her spiked heels punctured my feet. Her honey
sedated my muscles as my vision blurred. I only heard
the cackling hyenas approach. They lapped the blood
right off me with cheese-grater-like tongues as she tore off the fabric
of my flesh.

On an island amidst the tropics
reigns a bullish volcano, flowing
over the brim with enough magma
to incinerate the world into an ashy desert.
The red fury growls with each throb
as it claws at the crust
like a man thought to be dead.

The heavens tranquilize the beast
with their buxom clouds. Moist kisses
massage the island into a swoon.
The island builds a tolerance
as the soil is hooked,
so the heavens rain down
until the island drowns.

Tonight, I severed the umbilical cord.
Blood gushed through the heart-shaped orifice
until each brittle limb chipped into dirt.
I lost feet with which to run
and hands with which to crawl.
I fell backwards into the boiling sand and behind me twinkled
the psychedelic stars of Sin City
contenting my eyes and whetting my appetite.

Father, please
feed me bread and shelter me in Your home
because soon, I will even eat the mud they kick in my face
as I return on all fours through their wide wooden gates
to crawl beneath soggy cardboard.

Father, please
send an angel to walk with me
because soon, the prince will arrive in an air conditioned limo to conjoin
with me, and as we drive back to his home, I will look straightforward,
gulping without breath the wine that he offers,
knowing that behind me you vanish into the background.

Your ruby smile surpassed the heights of heavens
and your green eyes glittered like the Milky Way
as you pelted me softly with a scolding
for ditching you during the storm last night.
Your oceanic melody massaged my quaking temples
as we quickly shifted the topic toward tradition
and discussed each other’s plans for the weekend, but
you could’ve never extinguished the throb that weighed
my head toward hell, because with no more fog among us,
I can no longer cloak my iniquity from your divine eyes.

I arrive under the limelight
through the front door
in Amish attire
as they flutter under shadows
through the backdoor
like panicked roaches.

Their sheen platinum hair and jungle of twinkling jewelry
reflect their lavishly grinning ivories and provocative delights
but not my inquisitive eyes
as they and the euphoria and the lights drag
closely behind and fade
from my reach.

Even if they didn’t see me,
I’m still alone, isolated in this place.
My own humidity warms my blood
and blurs my vision
as I mend my wounds
with injurious spirits.

Her crimson and violet streaks
of long flowing locks melt
into the striped cotton sweater hugging
her curvaceous entity.
Her firm chest rises foremostly,
and her round backside flaunts
the washed-out denim jeans pressed
warmly against her milky flesh.
She raises a glass of Guinness
in honor of St. Patrick
as I admire how her snug attire accentuates
her already-enthralling curves…
Oh! And she says something, but
I didn’t hear.

hands

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp as smooth as a baby’s

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp without any prints on the world

eyes

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp as shut as a baby’s

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp unable to renounce the shade

cheeks

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp as fat as a baby’s

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp drunk off his mother’s teat

lips

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp as lame as a baby’s

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp unable to pronounce his desires

feet

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp as weak as a baby’s

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp without any prints on the world

She rambles
about her brunch with her boyfriend,
where an audience of eyes rolled
to their chalkboard-scratching howls.
I nod nonchalantly
with ears content
with the hum of the A/C
and eyes hungrily searching
for a diversion to break
her rubber band bind on me,
but everybody walks through
as though we’re ghosts.
When the building’s silent,
save for her predictable and perpetual bile,
I feign interest in the browning plants,
because to look at her spotty face, as rank
as the dissonance her mouth excretes,
will compel me to debate
whether the debt of murder
is a better bargain than this.