the Destruction of word(s)

A doleful wintry mix
sheeths of salt twine
ice bullets pounce
tapping on grates
in a rhythmic freeze--

hands warm on the heater
gush of redness swells
a certain feeling of a bluesy guitar riff
passes from cheek to cheek
a nod from each
a coat placed not on a rack
seething hands
slippery finger and toes wiggle
a sort of impecable timing
for bleeding of the crop
most fertile soil to drop seeds
passionate twithering
rough unshaven harmony
worn nipples to feed
but inside certain warmness--

piling of precipitation fornicates
as she moans on her back
he thinks of writing her letter
after all this is complete
and what it would say
and the wording of such
a sort of explanation of why
a celebration like this might not continue
loose conversations
revel in indlessness and lost marbles
she asks for his arm to hold
and he agrees for a moment--

watch the sunrise and set
it seems to not be able to decide
a gray dreary night turning over the sands
lived away from the shore
she asks if she can stay
he says no but possibly next time
when work calls no need to lay with others
his hands shake because of guilt
the summer spent with stories of travels
from one coast to another region
I should know better a stubborness in words
stronger than any alcohol
greater than any liquid in a bottle
a mythic solution of silliness--

he thought he was an island
only needing to pillage when he lay restless
fat and not so passion filled
he truly wants to weep
and think of kissing her eyelids
other men took her gently
I came upon thunder lightning bang
the bursting water lay waste to usefulness
a summer seems a lifetime away
numb to the feelings he had just felt
to look back would be a sin of some sort
an injustice to the past
no need for further injunction
but rather details to lay naked with.

Labels: agriculture, love, man, natural, nature, poetry, woman