The Coda of Love

Float like a butterfly Sting like a bee Has the light gone out for you? Because the light's gone out for me It is the 21st century It is the 21st century Him. Her. Hic. Ille. I. Code of Love, Code of Love, Me, Myself & I. I watch them strut altogether, so hallow, so callous, with their curved vacuum Troys, ephemeral snares unsurpassed, and tigers' eyes of guile pierce as I saunter past. And for pyre do they reel those off-guard shallow hearts, with words of honey from lips of the Promised Land, yet stare inwardly out as spiders; embittered nests; The Age of Jest. Code of Love? Code of Love, A shortest skirt and up above is a lush, meticulous sewer that beckons spelunking— So may Aurora Always be my guide. II. Lackadaisical waves play on the unanswered shore of the male bluebird who has lost his Her. Lions in the bathroom loose their fearful, familiar sound: warm scream (nay, Vesuvius), quick after Reality’s shadow. Degenerate lint lines my pockets, I let it pile as my Powers dwindle dwindle dwindle before her time-strewn features. Lunacy abbreviates sallow bones under yellow moonlight an eve sixty years in the future in the mirror and and and— warm scream. Liquor dances with meteorites: weaknesses loving Freedom. They are so Free. free to enslave my heart for recipe as Reap’s laughter sips from the looking-glass it's my skull. Dear Madam, that has so graciously yanked my celibate hand my autumnal voyage of red, may I have this one wish upon a star? I wish, that in your beating heart that quickens when you touch my tarnished, waning soul, I did not already hear petering there The Coda of Love.