Pole Dancing...

It must be their fault!
those damn futile rune utterances...
i couldn't strip in them bare enough
pole dancing on your stage of fire
burning only to the bones!
Calling your name in lyrical moans
May be those lines aren't enough dramatic
may be the words are  wearing less perfume!
may be the ambiguous verse hadn't been the least enigmatic
and the pale metaphors ran out of their glittery Channel lure
its too blurry out of your presence focus
I know i should take these stanzas to court!
after tormenting the teary truth
out of my bogus smile in plastic
and skin
sentence all my helpless vocabulary to death
chock their every pictorial breath
hang them on the gates of your silence
decapitated of their Majuscule brags
or even better.. stab them in their lexical heart
beheading the dots and capitalizing the question marks
in my guillotine of mystical explanations,
and wonder whys.
different ways of killing
the already in your absence,
dead.
How can i forgive these calamitous words?
few letters dancing together in the antonyms arena
a tango of curvy lines and circles
choreographed in your silent sighs
crossing your smoking vertex
Obtuesing all your patient acute angles
Then the words got drunk of their own Jack Daniels shots  
holding in their dotty eyes the earth and the sky
my words could fly
but if they don't reach you
then no more wings can ever do. 

May be they aren't too pretty
what a morphological pity!
may be they are too odd
or too even?
should i add some salt
or some sugar?
how can i take them out of my desperate gutter?
to the universe of your smile
how can i give them a fair release
how can i cripple them with ease?
how can i reconcile..
My poor poetic captives
rolling in black lines of longing
on the bleaching cheeks of this sheet
when shall we again meet?
your sparkling stares and the orgasmic ink
sharing a life in a blue lined link
so i think..
Ah! Here it is!
they are just impotent
never hard enough to my arousing verse
that much surging yet falling flat
the words are a hit ball without a bat
to the Euphoric Eden gardens stands of your heart
Roaring off your heart beats the ecstasy 
aiming for a six or a boundary
they keep landing in a dot.
how may rounds do we have left?
this inning has been long enough
the mad crowd is only cheering for more blood.
more poetic wickets on demand
wish i had a mastery rhyming Chand
or the legendary Sachin for an exquisite rhetoric score.

What to do my love?
i am just a nobody gipsy
A nomadic fanatic
an ecstatic dramatic
fancy-free
mumbling in the noisy avenues of your silence
painting with a 28 colors brush
and an endless palette of shades  
but my fleshy words ache
too many literal bruises to shake
you don't wave, hug or kiss
in their fanciest Gucci or de la Renta dress
they are as glamorous as piss
so, yes these words are sentenced to rest-death
if they can't make it to your best-mess
no need for their eloquent trials.
Dancing to your glass like shutters
in the final matching steps suicidal clout.