Lying on the bed,
two bodies lay entwined.
Sacred vows are broken
Lust is served as wine

Hands exploring
Hearts dancing in delight
after so many nights
they have long been deprived

Tasting the honey-sweet sin
forgetting the poison within,
the horned devil is laughing
the traitors' fates have been sealed

Littered thoughts lay
crumpled on the floor,
lips bear the imprint
of a fingernail.

A single word
dances at the end
of my fingertips,
I scratch paper
into confetti.

The first stanza
dares me to
give it autarky,
declare its truth
all its faults
in every sentence.

This untold idiom
would usher in
the torn diaries
of an undisclosed
suffering mind.

So I clean my floor
clench my hands
and close this
subject forever.

---

Lennon gunned....

John got shot that’s what he got, he
didn’t ask for the bullet that killed him.
I liked him a lot, well the songs that he
sung, I somehow identified with them.

The world he would stun,
when he fired that gun.
An insignificant little man,
with an insidious plan.
To jail he would go,
newfound fame that would grow,
just another malcontent
regrettably human.

Insulated from the world, listening
to whatever selection of music
I had decided would best protect me
from the perils of dull conversation
and the lives of even duller people,
I noticed a small child, at his mother's
hip, desperately concentrating on
the banana in his hands and I smiled
memories' involuntary smile as
I was instantly transported to days
filled with laughter and soft kindness and I
could not remember when I'd given up.