I can't write with a pen...
Like an adolescent ivory deprived walrus, he can't parade his fingernail moons that protrude from his gums.
I will not scribe with a quill.
So many times he has taken and driven, smoked and deprived the scent of your breath from touching my throat, I want those words to be yours!
I have never used a keyboard
Too many times I mistake my pink tongue for page numbers and my eyes for the backspace bar. Whiteout works just as well.
It has never crossed my mind to use a sleeve of papyrus, stale and stagnant. But, trustworthy, like old yeller before rabies and rifles.
I prefer to write in pencil. impermanent and irresponsible.
Until the eraser runs off in the rain with the ink.

Thank fearless love for a passionate life.
Throttles charge the gallows as if oddly shaped feet pour over mountains
There are things, the things no one has thought of before
Thin, thick, the golden gate plays games, give way to distrusting forgiveness
Thrusting and diving, trusting the knifing thief
Thoughts and dreams, whispers and spit
Through mediums and *******
Thinking, inking, chumming, coming
Thumbs are an evolutionary error
The taste of him, tactical and scared, afraid of the ensnared
Thrilling and drilling the president, he’s drowning in his will to represent
Threads rip at the sight of wrong and rotten thicks of ruin
Thistles lump near the top, swinging while ticks sway and swoon
Throw candles, lit fireflies, halt the stop watch knowing desire as we die
Throats bleach with boiling bills, and melodiously drown in melancholy ornaments
Theories prove insane is a thorough man with an open book of blank pages
Thwarting covers, nobody remembers, none have known his face
Thrifty as he is, they thrive on his peace and resistance
Thirty thousand cherries dropping at once, an atomic bomb
Threatening the fictitious fruit and depriving them of their dairy-free dreamscapes  
Thirsty Thursday looks at ******* Friday with a fringe of fear and inevitable fate
This feeling strives for a piece of an idea
Those thinkers, sultry like lively lace purple violet lilacs
Throttle sticks like lit dynamite to the corpses of conscious cornucopia
Thirsting crooked thatches croon about WD40, singing of slippery songs
Thespian facades, escapades and escapes, long catharsis reaction
Thumping metallic beats, drum the dents in my souls
Thermal conspiracy, heating the eggs equally hard boiled
Thin trees fragile nuances manifesting smoldering adolescent passion
Themed leaves seize Victoria’s secrets, branches boast their bulimia
Thorns are for foreign foliage fornication, induced by important imbeciles
Thumps will free theatre floors’ footsteps, and yawn gouging groans between the cracks
Thugs wail woes, worries and warts, sailors chug the tailored mug
Thongs, *** cracks and crackerjacks, sweet till the sweaty end
Thaw the swallows nest, waking feathers from their preening and unrest

Her arms folded while she danced
Around the sand covered glass sea floor
Driving away the fish bones and sediment
Ripples repelled off of her body
She gasped, looked into a mirror and fell quickly
She saw only herself that time.
Her dampened lit cigarette has become tired and lonely
Her mouth only moves to allow swallows of milky air through briny gums
Justice turns its back
Hues of voices, a vocal avalanche, taking her briskly by the ankles and toes
The grasp of clammy hands and starfish fingers hold her gently; unwillingly
Fear follows and hides away around the corner of the ocean
She moves fiercely.
Creating wake and restless sleep.
The oysters stir in their shells as she passes by.