I can smell ****, history and love
filling these vibrant streets at 3am.
Our caramel coated porcelain skin,
glows wildly under street lamps.

I’ve been hung, drawn and quartered,
by expectations and false notions of me,
but I’m past all of that, for now anyway,
as we haunt borrowed corridors.

We drink in our surroundings while we
shed our mundane bourgeois stresses,
and silent chrome giants watch us dance
around still horses to absent music.

White t-shirt casually flung lightly,
draped over your right shoulder.
Left elbow points towards the sky
as your left hand massages the back of your neck.
I’m a few steps behind, following you,
unintentionally at first but that soon changes.
Catching your sweat on the stifling breeze,
the harsh manly smell of your armpits.
Watching as beads of sweat roll down your back,
hitting your waistband,
some down the top of your crack.
Your body twists checking for traffic,
a flash of your hairy chest and your side profile,
skin rough and shimmering in this heat.
A detour for me, this isn’t the way home,
just to watch the muscles in your shoulders move,
to catch you on the breeze again.

of little interest or consequence
let the dust settle around us
let the ivy creep around us
bones will be left when it’s done
don’t let it bother you
the sinking and the friends
broken on the floor
nourishing it as they scatter
casually flung into the air
with no breeze to catch it

made up of parts of everything
only to belong to nothing
a life spent in the cracks of the world
the days are bleeding out
these days into
need to take stock and the stick
taking myself way too seriously
stop looking inwards
let the light in and out
and the dark