long graceful fingers
naked
and growing like ivy
up pale cheekbones
leaving only the eyes
intent
do you ever
look in the mirror
and feel that fear –
climbing vine of panic
choking
which hands are real?
the longer you stare
the more those leaves of
nerves pressing
belong to someone else
the more those eyes
grow sparkling in wicked
suspicion.
Press Send Poetry 
too pretentious?
Communion with Basil Hayden
Insomniac; I sit in my leather chair
The silence is sacrosanct
I can't help but think of you telling me
'You gotta stop drinking'
I watch the rocks crack and melt
In a pool of languid salvation
While the blue light
of an empty laugh track
Bathes me in a somnambulant lullaby
yours is wonderful, as always!
this would be a great guest post- send your permission. pretentious no. i like the pool of languid salvation – not just for the rocks, eh