Horse Hair

Sleek and thin
Like horse hair on a violin
Flowing and drowning in matrimonial bonding
A bickering mess of music makers
Willing girls with savvy smiles
Tracing their way to depression end
A place of marshmallow day lilies
Salty with a sugary delight

Where the oceans conspire and intertwine
And mess for places of the mind
The taste and smell of Italian days
And Spanish nights
The enterprise of love
Found to force and rape the theory
Of relativity

Soft skin on softer hands
That only could lead to the softest souls
I’d rather take chapped lips
Then a broken wasteland
Filled with dehydrated spices
Licking tongues to salvations
Epiphanies for anyone other then
Popes and slaves

Stolen of your final Armageddon
And banished to a island
Where the constant tsunamis flow over
Each other – wave for waves of waves
Don’t lie to the evening tide
Because it controls every morning’s dawn
On your part

Please don’t speak
Through sleek musician’s pianos
With knobby fingers and drumming keys
Callused hands gripped in callused hands
As they work their way to a crescendo
Lost making of hell
Woven, for the horse had died
Twenty years ago