The Wip In Progress

If the well of my desire deepens
And the water there is cool and clean
Then a tincture of rejection 
Tints it a pleasant blue

I wish to play no game
But what else is there?
The truth would boil eyes
And we blanche to bleach the world so

It's crazy and we all seem to like it so
That flirtation with molotov cocktails
Out to lunch with a vengeance
Drawn to trouble like a flame

We are the spies of our own undoing
Unraveling the plots of our domesticity
Reckless damning torpedo
Hellbent on the crash of flower pots

Though still I am not waiting
Slow I crouch and make myself small
Coiled and oiled with a hint of desperation
On my belly a dab of musk

Our gifts are yellow
And we pickle our fickle affections
Staring at blue screens filled but never full
With the cold fire of snow as soap

The kids play games and we rant
Biting where once we kissed
Flirt with cocktails to weep and ignore
Knees and needs over fallen walls

Dead letters all and ten thousand leaves
And leaving again to harrow all
Rather then lay about and lie about
With ointment yellowed into the red

Spying into the cold seeking out to 
Steal out of possession & vengeance
Water, eyes, and semi-reckless to 
The girl with the hat and glasses

Could it be? Pray & prey
But pray but to no one 
There is no other