midnight drunk calls

take a bite out of each
metal post on the sides of
his bottom lip;
acquire a taste for his life
and past.

the shaking foundation,
lead post of your existence
vibrating and unforeseeable
a moving mass at
1/10 shutter release.
he is darkened and blurred
but recognizable.
his face downcast
but sharpened robotically

everything you ever wanted
standing in front of you
with your toes brushing the
edge of the world

leaping would be too much work,
would be leaving a heart behind.

a smile like the sun has
a rope in his hand
with the end tied around your wrist,
and ropeburn doesn't hurt
but leaves a permanent
circular stain.

he covers you with his scent;
a snake writhing its way over its victim
and you are pulled under some kind of
deep green, unforgiving ocean wave
suffocating and looking forward to that
one moment of breathing the salty sea water
through nose and mouth into
parched, empty lungs
for rejuvenation and gratification.

he is the world to your
moon.
unwillingly attached, following a path
directed by gravity.
your eyes constantly scanning
toe to crown
and not only is he, to you
a beautiful photograph
but a human savior,
a grounding stick
the epitome of your want
the one thing that makes your
teeth catch your lip like a hook,
barbed wire to weak bait;
that makes your eyes dim half passed
eight and body rigged, but parallel to
the fast forward chemical process
of naturally melting glass.

perhaps he'll blow you into
something beautiful
and usable,
but reality says
he'll shove you from the tallest tower
with the world transforming before his eyes
in a whirlwind of color and noise
just to see you shatter
into a million little pieces;
all deathly prisms
illuminating and reflecting his own sun
into the eyes of the masses
to attract them to their cruel
fates.