Submissions by Bpoet

I
Painted blue―the walls,
moonlight―illumined living-room,
she sits.
Cradling the silent air
her arms will never hold.
How dare life’s circumstance―
industry
           internal injury
videos and photography.
Soulless women―
men idolize before they sleep.

II
The Virgin weeps over her children,
the daughters of the night―
worlds proselytes of pleasure,
and men who worship with their cash
just a click away.
They click and clack―
evenings dance of the eyes ...

I dance to my mind on an old summer day;
sitting to ripe peeled apples by the sinking hands of my grandmother.
“My dear child” said she, “take of my fruit, an everlasting token.”
I did as she said and took her chopped fruit.
Bits and pieces of juicy-plump reds and greens consumed by my youthful lips.
I am aging but not yet old. I am young but still not bold.  
But you were my dear, bolder than coffee that sat at your breakfast table.
Your apples and songs, your laughter and prayers;
the pieces consumed will remain all days,
constantly digested and...

behind prison doors―
denim,
swollen pulsing veins panting to be set free.
unbuckle my key
moving downward my copper latch.
i am thrusting myself against prison walls―
a raging stallion chained behind bars.
grab hold of me
spread open asunder your flood-gates
that I may release the milk and honey
flowing from my flesh.