Tonight, I play this evil santa;
fly through the night on a steed of pure steel,
across dusty moors & melting snow.
Deliverance of two cards, love;
in the other, a second wolf named omittance.
I will not allow myself
tonight, to be driven by desire.
One can create a quite night,
with bullets or hellfire second:
my first choice again is love.
Love that does speak its name
each night, at nine-thirty,
reminding me we could always be.
Something more in store for the cutter,
the man who flies in a chariot with windows down.
Thinking of frozen motion, while the wind nips.
I felt a forearm once, felt the bone quiver beneathe,
setting my heart in motion, in fear
fear that I could once again fall for a supple frame,
breasts that could quiet even this still night air;
make me listen to just the sound of breathing.
Watch the exhale as a crafted smoke,
knowing that cold and heat meet to provide fug;
a misty sound that invades her navel.
I've never known how to love an artist,
yet always craft on every day myself.
It's why one card remains now in mailbox,
the other is destined for the waste bin.
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