My friends are having a party, nimble bodies made clumsy, leaning
for inebriated support upon each other,
the odd one failing and falling upon the ground like a giggling dying fish.

That grass from a windows courtesy is a rioting mirror of the Roman inside, spouting anarchist
hyperbole at the horizon, that chaos will prevail,
And perhaps the tired cop may come
and they will get that drunken epiphany tonight, given time.
I think they just might, tonight.

I am a spy at night, deeply under cover;
Smiling
I am near the end now
exposing my love
Of watching

Flavourless

You say you want me
To be the flavour of the month
And lick my ice cream cone.
You say you are a cherry popsicle,
Youthfully frozen in time to please me.

I say, I don‘t need to be
A tasty treat,
Because I am already "I Believe You But My Tommy Gun Don't"

Puh.puh.puh.puh
little droplets in the sink
each one to reveal the essence of a flower
each one drags sin from your hands instead
laboring in the dirt and dried blood and grease to wash all that is you away
down a rusting pipe

I take another drag as you brush the hair from your face
Book in hand
You glance my way and the disappointment is palpable
It's raining now
I inhale the last of the smoke
Gazing deep into your perfect disappointment
Smirking
Flicking the white cancer on to the asphalt
I turn on me heel
And am gone

Or that's how I imagined it

Diamonds in her
Honey in a  living form
What do you dream of?

There is a monster inside of her. I think it lives in her shoulders, they are usually heavy. Sometimes it crawls inside her stomach, shaping the curves that form her delicate waist, eating away all that she doesn’t, leaving her thin and beautiful. Sometimes it looks through her eyes. When she’s dancing and looking at you with happy smiling sparkling eyes, that’s it. Sometimes it makes her toes tingle and her veins throb, but she is too intoxicated to notice. When she sleeps, it gives her innocent dreams of the boy she kissed last night. She doesn’t know what love is but she imagines its something like kisses. And when she’s dreaming it whispers in her ears, “you’re impossible, you’re impossible.” She wakes up more and more tired every day