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Eros, With HIV

June 15, 2012

Eros, With HIV 

They said, “Time’s Up,” so I started surfing time
waves a thousand years high, a thousand lightyears high, I rode to the shore of 2012, hovered on a bed 
in a studio apartment
three stories in the sky,
primitive porn
of the intoxicated 
and forlorn,
desire, with socially crippling disease,
eyes that see
heart-of-light-flesh-of passion in the softest most torturous social conviction:
that of moral obligation.
Not even as (or perhaps more) subtle than the time consuming mating ritual of creativity;
courtly love as poetry, based on the words of others infused by 
the sweet syrupy liquor of personality.
Like a living mystery novel victim trying
to discern who manufactured in an only rumored lab his affliction, whose
sole symptom is the neglect of others whose initial admiring excited gazes turn into
pity’s pragmatic haughy eyes
away from my own trapped eyed desire becoming  haunting lights of dimly
disguised longings lost for loves past 
like an erotic incarnation of tragedy cutting a dashing figure, in the underground night club,
sinisterly lovely doppelgänger on the dance floor 
in the night tapestry of dreams on the wall
in a mountain castle festival
of vampires in the cathedral of twilight
Waiting for Youngblood,
(The one who walks in daylight; The one who never feeds, save for once on a single drop of a tiny blood rose willingly offered in the palm of the young moonstone goddess’ hand the color of light off a lilly on a spring day in the morning on another planet with a pink sun rising in the sky;
(the teardrop scribe), who comes with his Morning Glory wings bleeding love poems from a thousand tiny heart pang cuts, and at the banquet table with a celestial candelabra all stars forming the name of his love to illuminate sapphire chalices with bas relief female angels
and diamond cutlery on the heavily laden table, they wait, the shade of a past love. he gazes
staring at richly woven
moving cloth pictures and sees himself in the past dancing in the strobe lit gothic club, 
clad in black,
feeling the words of the song, fingers weaving air
to the drumbeats perfectly,
the please love me dance.


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