I canít possibly be so naÔve
to allow people with faÁades,
slighted in pretense-
mask themselves like the second coming of Christ.
Authentic friendships symbolized,
and I no longer seem to recognize.
My senses diluted the taste of real
as my mind inhaled the stench of fake,
and with each passing day Iíve come to realize...
like most relationships-
the poetic ones have expiration dates too.
My penís touch has shattered shards
and my parchmentís heart swallows glass,
yet I still lick lavender scented lines to savor
what poetry is truly all about.