(can u spot the difference between these two images above)

answer below.

more fuggin pometree

..............................................

treacle

and a

dream

splash across hands,

rivers of equity

divide at equality

branching to form

an estuary

for our eyes

to meet and flood

these arch

andeluvian plains,

till i pour

cup by cup

these waters

into their

solitary confinement.

And treacle

is the spice

in the rivers

name

on your

lips.

..........................

the pills

kicked in

white light strobes

through smoke

and music

so hard

u swam

above

a

crystalline floor.

a white man

in a black suit

does not

move,

nods

of approval

in his pocket,

he sold

the children

of the night

a blowjob

on the dance

floor

her white

scooped tits

heaving with her

lips

till

dripping,

still

wanting

more

and more

and

oblivion came

wrapped

in

drum

n bass,

dawn leapt

from a cab

my eyes

pinpricks

of

molasses.

.............................

My love

lies on a

foreign shore

breaking upon blu skies

weaving through pure sun

and in the midst

of leaving a lover

to his self.

Is her heart

as cold as she claims,

an icicle

beating in a sea of blood,

a vacuum of compassion

willing to register

naught

save her vanity,

her pleasure,

her presence,

and me,

I am the pain

of her absence

and then

the pain of

her presence.

In turning a wheel

which way is

up?

.............................

london

Lives wander past,

drab grey skies

reflect in faces

gathering solace in movement

and food so stodgy,

so redolent

of ingredients

burnt into the shape

of stomaches,

while fresh remains a memory.

Bus drivers drive

over bums,

bounce over madmen

weaving a ballet

of disturbance,

their egos shattered

by lives of sorrow,

sprayed upon passers by.

In each alley way,

each doorway,

each warm crack

in the pavement

sleeps a heart

in need of heat,

wrapped in paper,

soiled bags and

seething for the pennies

thrown from

hands,

acquiescence to the system

which creates the cracks

through which they fall

and now in fall,

on the cusp of winters chilled

embrace,

these dying hearts

will begin to dive

like the yellowing leaves

crumbling in

frost covered death.

Me,

do I care

as I pass a pound

to an outstretched palm?

I no longer no how to care,

anymore than you.

..........................

shards of brittle metal

coat the undulating ground

glistening as they snap

in the black air

twisting to barren earth

the air reeks dry, stale, petulant

gripping the wretched soil

and breathing in the dust

this is no heart of mine

no space of my own

to contemplate this living

(as if this is alive)

to be as separate from

so vital an organ

to see its beating

in a hazy mist of distance

to see its cold exterior

seep within and burn

away the last vestiges

of love, hope, laughter

is to see the world

through a prism of nitrogen,

and knowing that this is me

is to relinquish

the last rites of humanity,

splintered,

and these

shards breaking beneath

my bare, bleeding feet

are my soul

searching for its

heart

...............

Amber

the break of dawn

rising through streaming clouds,

shaped as angels,

coiled as flowers

and breaking

on the breath

of warm air rising

between lovers kisses

Amber,

the resin of eternity,

the blood of ancient forests,

poured into beauty

and polished in her eyes

of pure gold Amber,

her smile a passage

to a thousand delights,

a thousand tales of love,

a thousand whispered stars

in a blue simmering sky,

a thousand kisses

held in ruby chariots

riding through heavens gate

Amber,

the sigh of the sun

resting on the ocean,

the murmur of a satin breeze

unfurling before

her sensuous body

and I,

I would ride each wave,

each jewelled sound,

each morsel of frictionless heat,

each lap of laughter,

each slender thread towards love

and bow my tongue

in the grace of her thighs

living on her touch,

her breath,

her gaze,

until finally

bequeathed that

precious stone

Amber

(long story, but written to Emily before I knew her name was emily, not Amber so I wuz forced to writ another pome [since lost to me, and em probably threw the sucker away for all I know]to Emily apologizing for thinking her name was Amber. Writted durring my "lesbian" phase, where I seemed to have fallen for many, many incredibly beautiful lesbians, so rendering my love completely invalid, but ever so worth it, I still contened mainly coz of the freinds I made [technically, didnt "make", but thats my dick talking])

..................................................

answer: only one of them has ever been convicted of a fashion crime.