Tremble
I won’t cry.
I won’t cry.
No I won’t
shed a tear.
Because now
solace stands,
stands by me.
...
She kisses my forehead.
Releasing me towards my stage of redemption,
while she starts to cook dinner,
awaiting my return.
The past enters stage left,
reinforced in palladium joy
and titan fruition.
Oh, tonight, I will not crumble and fall.
My yesterdays stare at my presence,
craving to say "hi".
But, I have other plans.
As solace observes my stage,
she whispers: “Release”
As I, stare towards my yesterdays…
...
WHY DO YOU TREMBLE?!
Has it been so long that you embraced sloppy second amnesia
in the hopes that I will smile at you with grand anticipation?!
How does it FEEL
to stare unto the eyes that you spat out
with regurgitated venom?!
How does it taste
NOW
that your "Born-again" ways
beg for sin’s return
as you stare at my Latin swagger?
Your lower back side
quivers for gripping bliss.
Dolphin tribalism tramp-stamps
tingling with abrasive urges
to be drowned in swollen bends.
Now you tremble!!!
NOW YOU TREMBLE
against the one your horny impulses
detached from,
during your 3-night stand.
Sexing your broken “willow”
who stood 6 & a half feet tall
with a French accent,
trimmed goatee,
and wedding band tan-lines
in The Jade Hotel sitting alongside the Riviera.
She got a good deal off Ebay.
Now you tremble!
WHY DO YOU TREMBLE?!
Your sliced wrists made of Rubbermaid plastic
and children’s tears,
stare longingly unto this angel’s wings that you
clipped with Vixen dagger,
that you begged,
PLEADED
to be released from.
Because your lies,
lies,
everywhere your lies
screwed up our scenery,
breaking my mind...
...Illiterate to my signs
flashing in white flag motions.
I only wanted to be held.
But, you amputated my foreplay
with quickie sex
and songs of “if you love me, you will”
in orgasmic baritones.
But, now,
NOW you find yourself ALONE!
Your retinas tremble in sadomasochist surrender!
Sweat glands imploding
into egotistical swampland.
Living vicariously through innocence nightmares
and John Tesh purified vocal filters
to feel "one" with self.
Now your battered lungs
floats upon diesel fumigated dreams
with semi-glossed, lackluster wax build-up,
choking.
GRASPING!
Grasping for air with these 4 words
you now choke upon:
LOOK
AT
ME
NOW
Dinner’s ready
© Drake J. Eszes
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