Her eyes were lemon peonies

beneath the blue of cyclades 
quakes in all magnitudes
tear at me in inner feuds. 
Why desire?
Why light my fire?
C’mon baby,
no need for L.A. woman.
Doors left open, 
doors slammed shut,
or barricaded against
skeletons now run amok. 
Which way is which?
Am I to be paladin or lich?
Insurrections arise in ego
like Ukrainian nitroglycerin.