blue moon balcony

dear diary,
a letter to unknown
from the creep in the window. 

he was young and dumb and she just wanted someone.

husky whispers by the crack of dawn, tangled limbs, dampened sheets,
strands of raven hair and a dusty pink camisole, showers of feathers, white pillows, snowflakes,
the heavy smell of old port, misused trust waltzing with the wind, melancholia
twirling gingerly before the open balcony door, losing balance, falling, tumbling, dripping dripping
thick black tar over neighbouring rooftops, over dimmed morning shadows
over bodies glued together by sweet and brutal intoxication

and in an open window right across the street,
hidden behind deep silk curtains
I am stood, watching,
and in an open window right across the street,
hidden behind deep silk curtains
I am stood, waiting.
and with my hands beating against the soft fabric
I imagine her mind
a forgotten attic covered in dust and grime, a forgotten attic laden with
burned out candles, a cave where memories lie scattered like autumn leaves,
transluscent moth’s wings overpowering creaking wooden floor boards. 

and beside their bed a basket of ripe black plums, slowly fermenting in the creasing morning sun, petals from a single purpur peonie gently snowing down, one by one,
second by second, drop by drop.

and her mind is poisoned, they say, polluted.
her mind is dangerous, venomous
her mind is unhinged
they say
her mind is the mouth of a serpent.

and as the city is awakened, hear the chiming voice of the streets,
for this foul smelling sanctuary to whom we all crawl to bleed,
and with the golden leaves chiseled into the hollows of my cheeks,
the shallow reflections gathering sand in every corner of my clouded eyes,
we stand, icons by the altar, breathing the heavy smell of port,
my ink leaking over sweaty linen sheets,
in a place where dreams come to die, on a balcony where dreams become
excuses, with the power vested in me, I pray to never
love you.