Dustin Pickering writes

Kisses

What good do these kisses do,
stretched by sidelong glance
and empty fire?
Do ashes, enraptured by
a cunning smart,
quest forward and dig through
eternal rage?

My essence is of fire,
my heart is a bitter worm
seeking depth— straightened like arrow
before the smiles of doom.
Yet none may know of the cycle of blood
in the trove of chaos,
dreaming of fear?

The midnight teems over my veins,
sullenly pressing its teeth through my wistful eyes—
do I know the shunned one
and do I forsake the outcast?
Harbor now the trust of one who is beautiful.
The instance of affection is mere paradox.

My veins spin the blood like fire
and envy do I hold as lover fair—
do my kisses smart lips of gold,
my own flustering, and dream bold as iron?

Self-Portrait With Sea Shells [detail] -- John Byrne