Pink Roses II

As I cool off

in the twilight

waiting

for this gridlock

to open up

like the skies

that one night

late

last November,

like the spider

trapped in his own

black self-made

maze

and cannot find

his way back

to his prey,

my canines

are aching

for blood;

I’m snarling

growling

here

here without you –

and you’re the only

only
I need.

When Midnight Drugs Turn Sour

Accept that she

is a syringe

and that you

have a very

serious addiction.

Embers dancing

all around us –

the firestorm

will keep us warm

and we need this now;

no sun

in this cracked

marble sky.

An inevitable cold wind

rising to meet my fingertips

before they whisper

to you;

be it Death

or shadow

I could not tell.

You’re wearing off

and the needle

of your arms is distant

but optical illusions

on the far end of August

and we’ll make

the most of it

until then.