the sun also rises
with the smoke,
staling sweetly
while the coffee drinkers
scatter dewy dawns.
we're smoking your last cigarette
letting soreness seep into
concupiscent sluggish limbs,
as sleep-cornered bedroom eyes
melt their waxy redness
into the cruelty of morning light.
insipid tongues, chapped and swollen,
speak in strokes of satin whispers;
breathy simple silken strands
"you're so soft"
scintillate resplendence
with moth-wing gentleness
to evanesce the daybreak chill.
how i yearn to remain
in between the days,
hazily hidden in the serenity
of our echo-quiet secret place.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 3:58 AM UTC
i am roused by paltry gasps
in the furrow of my consternation--
dizzying, still,
is the puzzling weight of vacuity,
my shapeless existence
where the wind has blown the weakness from your heart
and you've settled like ceiling-fan dust;
invisible, i asphyxiate
in sultry bated breaths
like the acrid smoke that seems to leave your lips
so romantically,
so gleefully anesthetized
in our secret place
where we pollinate the emptiness,
legs sticky with desire
and rapt with a fleeting symbiosis.
we awaken in ambiguity,
the taste in my mouth
is your yesterday's heaving tongue.
little lamb, sad-eyed baby,
thrush with too much touch,
always leaving in that heavy-eyed hurry.
your sweater brushes against my face,
i smell the paint that's stained a cold and ringed finger.
my senses are frenzied and willfully discordant
until you open the front door
and dissolve away--
dissipate into the realness of the day.
in my vapidity, i wait.
i wait.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 4:09 AM UTC
Friends like fickle timepieces,
I'm studying these circling arms.
Today we're rubbing off the gold,
we're turning pockets inside-out
as I'm peeling off your clothes.
*The dandelion seeds are dancing,
tube between your teeth
lifting up the bell jar
to release the waning fumes of me.
We're disappearing
into shapeless smears on my white ceiling
I'm waking up
to shapeless smears on my white ceiling*
The dewy density of days
between our poems spoken wet and blooming
is just a thin and runny equinox
where sweet abstraction
becomes messes uncontained.
My fingertips and lungs are stained
with your stale and flavorless tepid rain;
hands still moving though I've stopped winding.
I don't know where, I don't know why
nostalgia shriveled up and died
now I'm just remembering.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 2:46 AM UTC
you can't always wring love out of wanting to save someone
you're left yearning to be pocket change
rubbing subtly on her thighs forever.
in vexatious clinks you sing
of your forgotten value
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 4:19 PM UTC
serendipity,
my forever affliction:
tripping on the blanks.
sweet temporary
wake up tasting your thrush;
still feel like smiling
i guess i'm alone
but suddenly i feel filled
with "it will be fine."
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
i am satiated sinful--
who cares more?
that we've been scorching bliss
and grafting these
blameless bittersweet distractors
like we won't hear thunder-
hiding from the condescending constancy
of raindrops on the tin garage
i will swallow you
until my belly rumbles
*"enough cataclysm,
enough leaky roofs,"*
filling me with sloshing
wistful reminders
of our tranquil dampness,
a shivering placidity in
our secluded synchronicity.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
i understood
setting fire to the misplaced,
mismatched threads-
maladroit pleated-squares
of a warm, well-adjusted haven.
"i gave you that sweater."
yes, and as it drapes me
loosely like a lover's grip
losing interest,
losing heart
i feel so small and sheepish.
silent, sullen sinews
that i have sunken into,
though: "i'm so glad you are here."
yes, words fall out
faintly from my coward eyes about
losing interest,
losing heart
i understood
that when you left there'd be
no goodbyes
i understood
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
little saporous pretty prisms
dragged through ashen bones
to place your cloying melt
on my shivering paper skin:
your sticky face,
tongue stripping strangling,
char-chipping my caramelized blisters
from the burning maraschino hum.
Bubbling up whiteness
like our eyes unfocused,
hands moving unaware
spread the chapping numbness
over our senses, succumbed.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
i am the blood in the sink
you are **** on the bathmat
wash me off so we forget this
failed flailing at repose's feet.
("maybe we can make each other's
winter's feel all right.")
no, i cannot make you quake
in my mocha movement,
draped in careful quirk
pastel enraptures
fantasies of argyle.
drawing your fingers into motion
along fantastical bony parts,
effulgent with the newness
of thrush april wetness,
i have never felt so pasty dry.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
do the bad days outweigh the good
when you speak into the corner of my collarbone?
"sometimes it hurts to be this damaged."
could i whisk you up in the Kwanzan cherry blooms
though your body still feels imbued with winter?
"i've never met someone so afraid to be open."
must i crave the insatiable taste of salt,
gravelly crumbles of your encumbrance?
"i love this moment, with you and me, right here."
(in the morning, i am still syrupy stuck
and the sequestering sun washes me off.
clean from the ***** taste
that slipped off my sordid soliloquies
into submissively diffident lobes.
emotional adiposity
i'd love to turn myself off
whenever you're near)
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC