Found Poem

As if I’m not under a mysterious voodoo,
I was a one man show of diesel fuel and Copenhagen.
And now so refined,
so lost in a tangerine joy.
I have become something of a peach parfait,
as if I kneel before thee with arms outstretched.
Helplessly soft, honorably vulnerable.
China glaze reinvents itself upon my eyes,
teetering on the edge of silver ice and red velvet.
Romeo and Juliet would revel upon the boom of our heartbeats.
Mothers would swoon, Fathers would chuckle,
café waitresses would whisper in tight quarters about my contradiction.
Recovery is not an option,
for I am sold.
I may re- load, but never again will I possess the same firepower I did.
The horizon is too bright, the luminous moon is too tempting, and the black is now something blue.