deja vu

art and not art the eye
sees you in the morning
limber yet diffuse with
noises still to make and
little unbroken wings
still to break the fingers
scratch and pinch the
alabaster skin red flesh
the animator of desire to taste
the broken shell your pain
now your desire the candle
burnt wax streaking the
smooth white girl flesh
art and not art what
could be the reason for
these tears your brilliant
eyes so wide the thought
of what must come the sudden
torn flesh at her very
heart her hands
flung up above her head
her heels in the air
her split red swollen
torn apart her tender
bottom rose red ready
to be rent open to the
memory of who had done
this once upon a time the
far country the summer
evening the times you
would've thought it all
went well she twists in
his painful revenge her
body impaled for how long
she wonders the strings
of electric hurt and his
raking fingers slapping
her wondrous pink lips
smacking her bud

will it happen
will it happen
will it happen

the hour is rewound
the life is re-lived
her hands find themselves
the fluids course to the sea
my Boy stirs again
deja vu