(Part eight of a ten-poem story-arc. From the "Carnal Forgeries" series.)DRY DIVEMy fingers through your dark hair,
The wind soaring through mine...
The taste of smitten lips
Has become synonymous
With asphalt smitten harder.
Love is the harder line...
But the final line to cross
Is made of chalk and bliss.
Painted into a corner,
Then painted over like a stain
By a shade that would grace your nails--
Cute as Cupid, yet black as Baal.
Love is not your color...
And your walls are peeling again.
You sent a card, but God sends quail...
Love, I've found a better way to sail.
I worshipped a God above,
And a goddess far below.
I worshipped the ground you walked on...
Baby, now I'll kiss it head on.
May the ocean of our love
Prove far deeper than we know.
Your dress as scarlet as the dawn...
Love? Lust? Spite? Going...going...
gone.
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