The witch hasn't visited.
Perhaps it's my turn.
We correspond in sleep,
restless,
swapping faces with
everyone we see
awake.
We rode in a gondola once.
She laid me in her lap.
Rowing itself for us,
slowly, oar turning through the foamy canal
she told me Diana was watching us
a smile in her all-seeing eyes.
Diana, of course, has not visited either.
Moonbeams do not see me in sleep.
The stars have begun to dim
but there is such a soft light left in them
in my dreams, that is.
The witch and I loved to walk.
Speaking in tongues.
Tasting hypocrisy,
tasting cowardice and disaffected sentiment
the living world has no room for us.
The witch has not visited.
Perhaps she found a place to go.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 5:18 AM UTC
thisgirl: cornfield prince 2:05 A.M.
Everybody told me
love is like a bomb.
thisgirl: you're just another James Dean 2:05 A.M.
The trigger's in your fingers
it never takes long.
thisgirl: little boy with a man's dream 2:06 A.M.
But touch is just the **** switch
and love is just a song.
thisgirl: you never speak your mind 2:06 A.M.
Only takes a second
then you sing along.
thisgirl: loving you is killing time 2:06 A.M.
Body count of nothing
audience of one.
thisgirl: killing time is killing me 2:06 A.M.
Lyrics like a symptom
feelings are an illness.
thisgirl: but at least it's not killing you 2:06 A.M.
It's everywhere you go,
it's everywhere you go.
thisgirl: if it does just **** me too 2:06 A.M.
Can't even hide
you remember each part.
thisgirl: anything is better than this 2:06 A.M.
Lyrics like a symptom
they'll always plague your heart.
thisgirl: drain me with your dead eyes 2:06 A.M.
Love is just a song
but feelings are an illness
never play along.
thisgirl: im so sorry 11:34 A.M.
thisgirl: dont leave 11:34 A.M.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 4:24 AM UTC
Adore her as you would a limb.
Its soreness not for you
but what she does
and will do again.
Nurture her when untaught
taut with worry her brow
its knot, loosening to
your caress.
Her neck, swan upward
throat bared to your
possessing palm
finger tips lining its
length, molding.
These things are not for you.
Though they are for her,
so adore her, whether
in bent knee or her
curls ****** and
a hand fitted
to the place you claim in her.
These things are not for you.
However fitful
a slathering tongue
teeth and dull nails
may come to be
she is not for you
but she is yours.
These things are not for you.
But she is not yours
in sense
of straight backed self
strong brows and last names.
Only she may decide to be given.
And she gave herself to you,
so adore her as you would a limb
not a growth.
Or by Siamese conjunction
or twin soul mimicry,
but in function.
For you mesh
in tandem clockwork
if you choose to,
and the sense of you
is not you two,
you too,
or even an us.
Memory motion,
endorphins,
red light,
yellow light,
green, nothing.
It is.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 3:27 AM UTC