l cradle my palm
at the basic
knot
of her skull.

A tiny mound
forcing against the flesh.

So I give it a little pressure,
just to get her to go deeper.

Just a stem
of movement.

she looks up at me
with petal-green eyes,
"grab the back of my head again,
see what happens."

She murmurs it,
because her white teeth
hover
over my
red-headed ****
like a guillotine.

i can't write anything good until i've had my morning coffee,
the words are comatose inside me

i can't write anything good until i've brushed my teeth
the words are rotting inside each breath

i can't write anything good until i've taken a shower
the words will shine or be washed away

i can't write anything good until i've sobered up
until then all you get is
belligerent
repetitive
uncreative
pathetic

your heart an abandoned model home
i'd invited myself into...