She looked at me through the bottom of a glass
Crystal eyes and wet strawberry lips
I looked at her through the bottom of the bottle
Seashell dimples and wild dandelion hair
A scarlet chest in exchange for a day in her sands
Swing set smiles
Between blistering footsteps
And icy ocean kisses
Undressed and drowning at the bottom of her bed
Feeling like **** feeling ******* high
Serpentine limbs beg me
“Stay”
Our own little mattress comedy
Cast across the plaster in pale light
They’re all so ******* domestic
She kicks the chair from under me
Abrupt masochistic compulsions
Baptized in her holy see
Smoldering marquees and lascivious repartee
Let’s drink every drop of this satanic chablis
Until the bottle’s empty
Until we’re back at the bottom
And you look for me
And I look for you
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
We depress in the confines of cerebral warehouses
where freedom persists only through memories left.
But comfort can be found in the knowledge
that youth cascades down the flesh of flesh.
The sweetest fruits fleetly brush your tongue.
The loveliest tunes are whispers delicately sung.
Let your brittle bones break the malaise strung.
Just let go; let the air out of your lungs.
Reason. Purpose. Meaning.
It was when you realized that your life could be measured by revolutions of the sun.
It was the first time you witnessed the passing of someone you love.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
Molecules drift asunder, chasing shorelines
The taste for the oceanic boundless cast aside
Predisposed to march forward in time
Individual existence becomes a product of your mind
You couldn't recognize yourself when you saw me
Or that you are every word of every book on your shelf
Fixed on the fractured shells of its body
The mosaic never sees itself
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
A hole for the whole;
Clarion lacuna.
The cheval glass so immaculate, coeval.
You will find yourself when you sever the sound.
But even some trees reach for the ground.
Inadequate, a voluntarily tethered thrall.
Catatonic canvas;
Goblin shark lockjaw.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 5:18 PM UTC
As crepuscular embers fracture window panes,
The mind wares the solace of this paragon host.
Destitute, edentulous, declawed.
Is joy only to be found in the exchange of hands and throats?
And I took more than my fathers name;
I took his blood and his voice and his pain.
So what is it that separates?
Am I the emanation of original thought or am i just the sum of the harbingers' tale?
Am I never alone or am I bound to wade in the vapid wake?
"Could we be the limbs of a möbius soul?"
The panglossian being wonders.
And wanders.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 8:24 PM UTC