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We are never
so much more than empty space-
flimsy balloons of skin-
and rich, pungent
river mud,
carved by celestial
currents.

I met a man
of complex lines,
and elaborately placed
strings.

He called himself a composer,
but he was just
a composition
of God,
singing the message of dna,
given to nothing,
but instruction.

I wonder if
buried beneath ground and disgust,
even worms are tormented
with foolish dreams of transformation,
becoming the fearfully erotic,
archetype of snakes.

Even ground locked snakes
must look like gods
to the worms that dwell beneath,
who dine on what is left for flesh to find
of the world's of men.

No wonder Eve
listened to the whispers
of strange snakes-
especially when one said,
"I can make you more,
more than this."

I, too, have longed to be
more than this,
to rise above myself-
more than truth will allow.

To be someone
worth loving.
Someone worthy
of coaxing you
to let go of safety,
and hold on
to me.

Foolishly,
I thought I had risen, too,
above a mistress of convenience.
But I am what I have always been
just the closest umbrella
on the shelf
by water logged
hands.

I know patience
can weigh a man down,
heavy as any depression.

And you can rest off the backroads
in my arms,
in the narrow detour
of possibility.

But know that you were wrong
about the convenience
of romance.

You are
most inconveniant
my white dove
of temptation,
my back door
Van Gogh.

You are fire
in my hands,
burning, consuming,
hard to hold,
impossible to control,
scarring,
blinding.

My faculties fail,
my heart shrivels,
as skin thickens,
then melts.

All the witless moths, drawing near,
my truth illuminated for a hypocritical court,
by your brutal beauty
wearing away at my nakedness,
but it's so hard
to put you down
or look away.

Men are given to multi-choice convenience,
but women,
though they may appreciate sampling and variety,
are given to selecting that which is closest
to perfection,
even if it is the hardest thing
to obtain.

Guess that's why Eve couldn't keep her hands
off the succulent offerings
of the forbidden tree,
while Adam was satisfied eating lesser fruit,
because it was easy.

And I wonder how it is that you never noticed,
more convenient men,
that I have turned away, in my desire
to burn into you.