i have never been in love, never made sweet
memories with my partners. i pull the red
life out, i swirl in it, linger
just long enough to be sure and then i rush. their iris
disappears behind a lid and i'm left there swaying
in their veins, intoxicating i'm the clandestine

lover, the clandestine
mistress who sleeps around, tempts the young ones with my sweet
promise to take the pain away. i sway
both ways, any way. i've cozied up with my red-
eyes girls with laddered wrists, touching their blossoms, the iris
between their legs and blooming on their skin. i linger

in the back of their head until the also lingering
doubt moves on and i'm all they have. our time is clandestine,
hidden in bathrooms, locked rooms, quiet places. i risk
their lives to show them light. i teach them flight, the sweet
escape from hate and lucidity. i kiss their arms red,
a single bite, and hold their skin as they sway.

into my memories, my world, sway
back against walls grimy with lingering
dirt. i leave my mark, my reddened
trail through their skin, and leap to the next clandestine
location, my thin cold face welcome, a sweet
song to lull then out of life. i kiss their irises,

taste their suffering. i work with miracles, doctors with tired irises,
hold the sick and hide their pain until later. we dance in bed, sway
as i take them miles away, somewhere warm and sweet,
out of hospital beds. i live inside buttons, linger
in the shafts of needles, on spoons in clandestine
pockets of high school misfits. i don't judge, never ready

with a comeback, a red
slap to the face. i listen. i am warm. i peel back iris
and form a bond with brain cells. the clandestine
companion, i never met a mom who approved, a father who swayed
at my elegance, my helping hand. i linger
long enough to do my part, but leave, bittersweet

when the parents come. swaying, their eyes red
and lingering on their baby's arms, their iris,
their gift, wilted. my sweet junkie, my lover, clandestine.


another dope poem, ya know.