The Prince of darkness
My bright and shining star
The greatest Prince of them all
Watch him dance and sing
Watch him go
A sexy style
His sweet style
Melts your heart
Makes you smile
Snap your fingers
Tap your toes
My Prince
Watch him dance
The way he moves
He is enough
To drive you wild
Those bedroom eyes
Lips so sweet
Love me tender
Love me wild
.....My Prince.......
The corner of the room is bound by a drawstring
that's dotted with flies all alight in glass coffins.
I'd plan it as a way to set a mood,
but have yet to use it for more than writer's atmosphere.
My bed beneath and engulfed by jointed walls
is often spread about in the nude, shaken with dust,
and willing to have me in it whether washed or unwashed.
I'm thankful for the closet, which houses no bodies,
and is the only clear access to the mind of our structure.
I use it by my whimsy and tend to toss it scraps
of previous adornments which might yet be hung.
There is excess of oxygen and no one with to share it.
There was at once a warmer touch that used to breathe it too,
but after such long nights spent confined to self,
I know it's only mine.
As I forge my gradual way, I cannot help my eye,
which does not listen and only sees those who scurry by.
Seeking her, despite myself, despite all the advice:
seeking newest, loving lips to offer all my air.