My Cellar.

Girls and boys I love them both and keep them in my cellar,

One and two and twenty ploys I keep under surrender.

One day a man came to my door so I pluck a girl and tell her

“Don’t tell him what I hide beneath, don’t show him your bruised and battered feet, don’t tell him what I hide beneath, or else I shall make you pay,”

So the girl greets the man in a solemn kind of way, she curtsies slow, they talk, he goes and at the end of the day, still nobody knows what is in my cellar.

—-

The next day, the man came back to visit to see the girl again

But I dumped her body somewhere, I don’t remember where, so I grab a boy and whisper

“Don’t tell him what I hide beneath, don’t speak for your voice is hoarse and bleak, don’t tell him what I hide beneath, or else I shall make you pay,”

And so the boy waves to the man, he grinned at him, he shook his hand, and after tea that gentleman went on his merry way

And at the end of the day, still nobody knows what is in my cellar.

—-

The following day, that cursed man came back to speak with the boy

But I left him alone to starve and die somewhere far from this home

With no one left I can present to him cleanly (for rest of them had turned quite greenly), I came to the door with a coy and just grin, welcoming him quite sweetly

The man, however, did not react the way he once did as he swiftly passed my figure, through the door he wandered in and asked where were my children

“Oh them?” I ask, quite cheerfully spoken

“They are but away. Have gone away to their Uncle’s home and shall be back again some day,”

“That is quite a shame,” the man said low, shaking his head uneven,

He blocked the door, but right before, brandished a knife quite cunning

“Tis’ a shame your children aren’t here to see what I shall do to you, sweet.

Tis’ a shame they won’t know what to say when you are completely gone,”

I blinked with surprise, astonishment in my eyes, while my lips curled into a sneer,

“Do what you please, but when I die, you must abide to these rules as well, my sweet,”

He nodded stiffly and listened closely as I leaned in close and said,

“Don’t tell them what I hide beneath, don’t touch my steps with your filthy feet, don’t tell them what I hide beneath, or else,” I glared,

“I shall make you pay,”

And so he pressed the knife against my throat, both firm and very bold

A squelch, a squeal, a thrashing moment before everything went cold

He dragged my body messily across the polished marble floors,

He dragged my body and then he dropped me,

Right past the cellar door.

—-

And to this day, I must say, and all I know concurs

at the end of the day, still nobody knows what is in my cellar.

Late August, Early Harvest

Of the bounds of silver branches waned
           And the flocks of who calls glory
                      To the empty, beckoned second tough
                                 Of days and weeks gone morning
                                      Why rushing winds do seldom come
                                                 To brush the ears gone blooming
                                                            And wipe with farce their gentle wars
                                                            Of hands so cruelly combing
                                                  To gather in my arms this years’ fruitful
                                                  harvest coming
                                 And count the number of months gone weary from
                                 waiting for her humming
                           Why rushing breeze do seldom past
                   And why flocks of glories steady
           To settle down on her evening gown
Of silver branches, peeled and ready

Apocalyptic

Gently, I loved you under pale sunlight and disaster strikes
Crimson arrows shot from angry god’s bows streak in the reflection of your eyes
As I bring myself gently down onto you
Watching as your eyes flutter like hummingbirds’ wings for a split second
Before a stellar meteorite crashes down, crashing onto your lips
I seek refuge in the warmth of your mouth, in the palms of your hand as our estranged bodies become a little too familiar
with one another
Earth rumbles with a hunger, a growl from your throat,
then breaks into crannies, biting into the niches of your neck
My vocal chords are strummed like a harp by the dirt-sullied winds and soothed still by your calloused fingertips
And as the world falls out of orbit, I fall onto your chest, exhausted but content, the constellations of your sleepy smile draw me in to gaze at you more closely
For the universe has grown into a rush of cold
And we wrap into one another to keep warm until we finally crash
Back into the familiarity of our bed.

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