The Steel & The Caballus

If you were a gun
I'd grip you like bullet casings shadows to the floor
I'd melt into you like the matte black steel reflects no light but disappears as easily as the hand in front of my face when you lead me by fingertips into the crawl space and slowly shut the door
and
I'll be the hand prints
the short stints the black light sparks lit
your full lips cover the bruises of clenched knuckles on hot hips
sightless critics / movement addicts / bass blasted excuses to churn into oceans of explosions deemed passions teemed rotoscoped visions / our vocation / like how the thin scars remind me of fresh lacerations / and if the scars weren't with me I'd get 'em tattooed like sleeves / deranged laughter and fits my throat you bit you can see the proof / in the residual redness the post sanctioned breathlessness
the divots

I admit my muscle memory is immaculate and relentless
and when I bathe under the true blue new moon light
I am physically reliving every single moment of it
I thank god that it all moves in slower motions through my dreams
repainting every pigment of those senses blended into a canvas
of criminal acts ravenous / how ever soft spoken / hungry / however lock jawed cavernous and choken / built ourselves into an each other owned monument / unforgettable brackish fantastic / whisping shapes and forms of intangible becomes adaptable
a catalyst
a crime between me and you when we're all alone
a rain of coalescence that happens in flashes

in post production we'll carve it in stone to commemorate the moment / then put it under ground before anyone knows / to prove that we own it / that we understand the birthplace of matches is the proper space to raise / the planes where we can levitate our vessels and reiterate our onus
a crime between me and you when we're all alone
given and stolen
a thieves throne we rode unseen as potions / administered as
slight of hand tastelessly potent / thieves and rebels and rogues
stock our stoked cloaks with stacked kits and stolen gold
ancient gypsy souls / weapons and venoms and lock picks
we cut all the safety nets / stole back our secrets
like confiscated car crashes and permeating bayonets
we stuck ourselves on purpose and let ourselves drift
into the left lane with distractions and intention
when our floored move is on we don't resist
only exist as resonance in the hooks suspension
no second looks shook stillness in our ascension
ascension ascending / containment not so / nor ending

nor
for in that space
we were fucking lightning bolts photographed phonetically
naturally occurring phenomena theoretical as physics
debated as peripheral images captured of spirits

we were words of nothing that needed to be said because
anything necessary was already present / ambient and weightless
the only words we carried were in the form of rhythm and poetry
star struck and wide eyed we were just enamored by the rhymes we spoke / inside / alongside the adjusted eyes of dim light
our words seemed deadly
and when the outside havoc
was dissipated and sporadic
we drew our blades
and slew each other
we grin visible in only half glances
shadows and moon slivers
spattered sideways
capoeira stanzas
and low stances
dances with footblades
the dark night / heat haze
eyelids closed from whence dreams made

we both knew that the 9mms were assembled
always clean well oiled and ready to rumble
but save for a gasp cut short and that
of a heaving bodies natural contort
the blade of a sword is silent
in the afterglow we ache
like european gothic architecture
the anticipation of beauty and violence