ok chokehold.

i wish to go camping and build
my fire under your crows wing
attitude. i wish to have children
and hide them away from dust
in the cleanest vases. i wish to
explain to you the circumferential
crappiness, the why you will not
take me seriously on any other
than a rainy day. throwing is like
reverse grabbing, reverse grabbing
the chandelier. every word we
speak is crossing a line. a line that
is only my line, a line you never
knew existed. it is red. it is colored
somewhere
i want to be. it is the burgundy
of your mouth bending w/ speech,
it is the donation of O neg and
the blistered heels of your feet
stomping on my heart through
my vest of sequins. no, not stop
ing. morse code on my 3D love
poem, don't ya know?

coffee is done, suit is irony and my
jeans are cut into my favorite story
about a man
and a woman
and the lake they drained
when they became thirsty.