Top of the morning = New poem up just for YOU. Feel special... very special.

No title
By: Keith Gurgick

Love is the tear in the shot glass.
Love is the broken neck,
Decorated with lipstick smears.
Love is the crosshair

She waits for me in the train station
Dangling procreating worms above the tracks

Love is dark red wine,
Sliding down the throat like-silk-slides down her shoulders.
Love is tracing the lazy lines of her hips,
Living the lazy lines from her lips
Lining her lips with long, lazy sips.
Love is the soldier's note,
Smeared with gunpowder.

She talks like a kite settling on the breath of God.
"Lover," she says to me, "I'm leaving you."
Her feet rise an inch.
"I left you something."
Her feet rise a foot.
"It's behind your bedroom wall."
She's gone.
I run home into my bedroom.
I wield a sledgehammer,
It makes sweet sweet love to drywall and two by four.
Behind the wall is the sky, and a smoke trail that reads
"There was never anything there.
I just wanted demolition."
I imagine her introduction to a plane engine.

Love is a kiss so hard
Fine china falls to the floor, a tango to a glittering beat,
Leaving soles of feet bloody with broken glass.
Love is a secret time bomb,
Strapped to chests,
Count down to zero when arms unfold.
Love is an inaudible whisper,
Spoken to a deaf ear, utter gibberish.
Love is insomnia.
Love is burning a pyromaniac at the stake.
Love is !KAPOW! love is a sweaty circus.