Nikita’s Garden~A Poem by NoneOfYourBusiness akaKITTY KUTABAREakaCandyPoleOnce upon a time a messiah took a strand of pearls and placed them in the bole of a cherry tree, whispering “Don't ever contradict desires with advances and great rewards to come with this, the grandest fall.” "Besides, God is fatigued." he said, "He gave it all up for a girl." I laughed as I ate the diamond lies out of his vivid imagination and drank his pearl passions down with the sun "You will lose your life." I whispered as he stroked my hair "So how could you ever claim you've lived your life better than any dog." and it was his turn then to laugh and to . . . .
pop me like a pebble from between his grinding stone mind into . . . . I approached the dread the utter confusion the torn lady evoked with a soft growl my eyes like onyx my pupils dilated in the fragment of Parisian nights
remembering . . . . Two loving hearts over pasta in Venice; where for the first time I saw love like a pulse the wine rush of their capillaries expanding as I stumble out of dainty feet into a cape of blood red and a basket of wire
tripping out on . . . . The mother on the street as she hushed the bleating lamb with her last breath; I baked it sweets with my warm hands gave it cream to lap from the bowl of my stone palm
spilling out onto a tablecloth with . . . . The emptied glass by the old man's hand the cat gone from his lap into the night outside the chalet; I bent like a reed out of my kimono to lick the brandy from his fingertips
swallowing . . . . The storm as it shook the surface of a young girl's dreams soaked the rose from her cheeks took her down on a spiral into a world of prey
pushing me out of ribs into meat . . . . Variations on a meal; the only constant is the blood on the edges of the silk handkerchief with which I dab at the corners of my mouth
pressing drops of pressure, defending . . . . . I can't do much about the noises, baby except to curl around them in my snake scales in the pew of a cathedral
shattering my brand of stalk before an image of . . . . The women beseeching finely dressed gentlemen with hungry eyes the men's only sacrifice to yearning cursory glances filled with contempt
filled with . . . . Hysteria is a thing I'd rather not engender but when she asked what I wanted with her faith I had no resistance, and showed her
fell through her divinity amidst . . . . Curious figures through the snows fountains frozen in delicate grace iced over with psalms; only beauty humbles my silent heart
feeding . . . . Silhouettes in the tombs my irises the color of blood as I take in the undead world of my father
stalking . . . . The snowdrift whisperings through the unshuttered village empty save for the curious wolves with the silver bullet eyes
pushing my dreams under. . . . I bathe in rivers frozen over with hummingbird feathers iridescing I sleep in icicle beds full of the chill and frost fire of Dhawos
entertaining the horror of . . . . . He'd lain here in remembrance for an age the forest grown up around him; I could wake him with a kiss, but I fear it
for I learned young . . . . The true killer pleated in meats of sickness I'd rather do without while the dying littering the roads in innocent heaps represent sweet flutters of a feast
in rimed lashes watching . . . Grasshoppers litter the snows this year birds shivering in branches outside my window going nowhere
as I bend through the waist of an hourglass whispering . . . . Drink in me fulfill this invitation carved in indigo embedded in silk tablets of legacy and death
famished soul devouring . . . . The blood curtains as they fell in grace to conceal the nightingale with the long, white neck I moved through the shadows to startle her with blue roses sweeping her out of her ruby slippers for dinners, festivities she danced me through the evenings wondering in whispers why I touch nothing to my lips save the back of her dove hands kisses for her shoulders; I'm a sexless thing but hunger imbues me with a sensuality that drives them to me like moths to flame she manifests in kid gloves, soft tan, she slips them over my hands starved for love her mouth tastes my own her pearl teeth bite gently at my lips but these are not the gifts I want and I shiver only because her beauty fills me with ache as I slither in vain against my own chromosomal waltz while she willingly winds herself into my coils of moonlight and apricot brandy
I sink into body . . . . I shift for the eve, the man, the lamb I do this with little passion and without pity prone to a tendency to pretend at being a regular girl embroidering fine delicate fantasies through the air out on the terrace in my rocking chair of bone as father laughs and calls me mischievous
his memory like. . . . Leaves drying between the yellowed pages of mythological texts on shelves of oak in the grand library that was his whispering begging to feel the curve of my hands in weeping bindings; I tell them to hush because attack from beneath the catacombs always waits on a fine edge for sound
tensed in me . . . . I dream and dance to victrola notes like gems of moonbeam milk against the walls waltzing inside candlelit tragedies through a sunken garden on the arms of rouge DNA and in swirls of chemistry unbound falling like leaves beneath a soft rain shower white feet silent whispers in the mud of Nikita's Garden my eyes inlaid with rubies my mouth filled with stars. . . . .
for a messiah with a god complex . . . .
copyright:2009vssmd/pa.inc ALL RIGHTS RESERVED © 2010 NoneOfYourBusiness akaKITTY KUTABAREakaCandyPoleFeatured Review
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Added on August 20, 2010Last Updated on September 17, 2010 AuthorNoneOfYourBusiness akaKITTY KUTABAREakaCandyPoleAsIf, Trippy Cottontail, JapanAboutVictoriaSelene Skye Deme Author of. . . . ~CrowWoman & MudGirl~ ~Eve's Rib~Jezebel's Hips~ ~The Raspberry Girl~ ~Girls With red Hair On Cherry Cadillacs With Bushido Swords~ ~From The Gutte.. more..Writing
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