For Briley

For a Miss Buttons Briley III. Third of her name. First to make me feel this way.

Love's refugee belongs to
cheap bourbon and cheap lust.
I've had enough to know
How ruinous and empty the gutters below
to strip my heart for naught.
Resurrected itch for
your sailing wrists and fingertips.
Ruinous to me.
If we could delay a few more days
I don't know..
Sweet angel of mercy.
Beneath the surface
I can hope and fucking pray for
a deeper devotion, from you.
from me.
But lust and love coalesce and blur.
"I'll call you tomorrow."
Empty words.
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Filed under love, mad ruminations, poetry, prayer, writing

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