Construct #52

sickness
rip it from my headlines and post it in the junk mail of tomorrows messages
torture
turn it on for the voyeur to choke with slithering excitement
hunger
feed it to the sour stone souls craving a taste of my enchantment
love
perhaps only a word carved on the vaginal walls of inspiration

perhaps only a word
and what sanity does a word cling to
what science does the conjuring of syllables belong to that can't feel the truth in magic

no
let the vampires of delusion feed on the time lost to chances forgotten
let the stories of grand affairs cast long shadows into pit of expectations

perhaps only a word
perhaps that is the magic

i am sick without you
as time tortures my heart
while my body hungers for your touch

love
perhaps
magic
always

definition
within without
withdrawn from the center
and internally recycled
for another poet
to become lost in the rhythm
captured by the myth
and released with no knowledge
of the fate that has been tasted
or the magic wasted

always
love
perhaps
magic

and so now i close my eyes
looking for a way to cross this distance
see into the iris of your smile
and perhaps define words i've yet to create
one for me and three for you

goodnight