His lips were stained
 by a velvety madness, when I met him.
 The scent of a fragile rose
 swirled amidst the cruel surrealist.

He stormed my fields
 with eyes of steel, yet, so ablaze.
 We entangled there ‘neath heaven’s stage
 and I squeezed out his raging pearls of pain.

Hauntingly, whispers did seep thru
 anointing the ink’s unfurling truth.
 Over the poet’s canvas, it forged its web.

The veil of fantasy, sown in tears;
 the liquid silk of realities sneer;
 The sultry watermark of pain endured.

Artfully, we’d sip the azure mead
 quickly becoming impaired
 by passion’s bottomless dream.

We share the serpent’s thrill, (he and I)
 to have and to taste fractured minds.
 The one’s who long to feel once more,
 the needles of fire that poets implore.

So, Darling, yes, the sickness is shared,
 but I’ll never forget those tangos we dared.
 When I see the flickering vacancy sign,
 I’ll look for you, because the thrill was mine!

© 2015 blue angel