Prologue: He wrote her a poem With the weight of a love letter Her wrote her one hundred more Just to know she was truth
I want to budget my words To strangle the syllables To pin down the point To lock into you
so now I am Sisyphus ready my hands on the boulder so steady the blood from the dig in my shoulder
I lock my eyes on the sun to find a find a place on the grip but would take the weight of the world for a taste of your lip
**** it I’m ready to serve only you
so how do I coldly ***** ribs in a caged heart of strife? without stealing the lungs of the one who breathes life?
I meet you often in my late hours morose meditating on mad dreams Your cockiness verbose just give me the word I’ll do as you please you can file your nails as my tongue splits your knees
(Bukowski) Banging (******* skeleton keys) a sentence assassin killing paragraphs (open essays diminished) as the typewriter talks till it laughs (in tatters+finished) screaming ”take me through door after door!!!”
Always seeking the right words, From love’s lexiconic relief, the sentence that shatters, so don’t run on the dream it’s punctuation that matters the period that finally bores into you.