I wrote this a very long time ago for a woman I never was with. Sometimes emotion grows faster than will or opportunity.

Lace Mike McCollum (1999)

black lace slides like a theatre curtain rising, parting to give visions their passage to the soul, as the lustrous light of your flesh, calling me to end the obscurement and carry you whole from this world into the realm of passion. kissing back your last questions as my hands sought to play master of the marionette of your rapture. captured in a spontaneous act of surrender, caught in a web of nerve-impulses cursed to thirst in pure convulsion as I drew your dreams out to play. taut strings to strum with fingertip or tongue or lip laying traces of lost sigils on your canvas. images that bear no conscious meaning but that can slip through the seams of your inhibitions’ armor. cages filled with your fantasies sprung to let them rip aside the veils you shed like ink on indifferent pages. the black lace lays its own track to the precipice and I am left with memories of a rose and a singular vase, filled with tears that ran like rabbits before the hounds. this is no way for fires to fade. no way for legends made to trace spiral path into the abyss of forgetfulness. And so, I save a kiss