antiquarian

you aren't welcome in my bed
if you can't penetrate my head;
my heart, it's sound asleep.

you'll never see me bold and bare,
if you can't catch when i'm not there.
my skin runs miles deep.

on lucky nights i sometimes fall
to restless slumber, if at all.

my muscles quiver, my bones quake;
i feel the ticking, tired ache -

you will leave
if i let you witness how i wake.

salad

loving hearts are those that bleed,
'cause love ain't always what you need.
i hate to say, but hate is real,
and hate can reach where love don't feel.