It seems I'm under water by design,
devoid of that happy puff of air
keeping selves rockily afloat on a dividing horizon of still living, possibly thriving
And yet still imposing on that infinite line of quiet.
Sleeping where your child lies on weekend nights,
A stale cigarette and listerine nest~
We're fairly distant
but for a gentle stroke on my neck,
Hiding from our denial of breath.
nothing's Amiss Nov 2017
My mad waiting skull
craves your orange glow
like clockwork.

Toes clenching and unclenching,
grabbing pale carpet hair and thinking
about your nose;
it's striking prominence and form.

Warm skin!
your sultry delights.
I guess I'll take a cigarette,
one thing burning
between my lips
before the other.
nothing's Amiss Nov 2017
It's a tricky facade
we entertain with mouths and lips,
giving green lights to swaying hips --
Eating white lines with ravenous tires
that don't seem to tire.
Puffing smoke and chasing barbed wire,
a heady velocity.
Bleating hunger for the bare virgin road
still unstaunched even when
leaving boots and combs at home
nothing's Amiss Nov 2017
We're disingenuous riff-raff,
leaden eyelids at half-mast --
Leggy and skirted,
we're skirting scraped knees
and toting battle-axes.
nothing's Amiss Sep 2017
In a series of gasps I'll devour your breath,
in the sea of your soul I'll wade up to the neck.
Ripping seams from your sides
I'll crawl into your mind,
and love 'till our bodies protest.
nothing's Amiss Sep 2017
Down my spine and up my fingers,
Wet tobacco sweats and lingers.
Small infernos in my chest,
Stoking fire with every breath.
Both fickle days and longing nights,
Butane flame my iris lights.
Post-midnight smoke.
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