Tiles

Tiled
in this gloss walled rage
with no strange worlds to depart
like sins gone
lost
left uncommitted

you live in the spread of light
like renaissance whores
shedding laughter
for the seams undone of a
breaking dress
and the lofty thoughts
of a jukebox mind

Picking up a cloud
the wasp hits the window
in a classic fondling fight
like two lovers encased in their vile hatred
enmeshed in this parasite kiss

a gruesome leaflet of temptation
and paradisiacal hurt.