I think surrealism was born of alcohol
The world looks unbelievable when intoxicated
Impossibly intricate, complex and simple
The shapes of the line that might define the borders of the world
Seems uncertain shifting and sublime,
Objectively subject to change

Depth becomes shallow and
Focus is moved from one thing to another
Beautiful women, lights on cars,
They flow and merge in the open night
And become one with the twinkling bright
Of the moon and the distant stars

Energy is movement and light
And it all goes one to the other.
The stranger is friend and now he’s my brother
Bartender!
Please bring me another

She, consisting of
he and s as in **** and shine.  

She is love and hate and frustration,
she is aggravation
she is admiration.  Is
she the complete, meaning
he is waiting to be completed, or does
she need
he to be fully
she?  It must be both, because
he does not feel whole without
she, and
she is not all
she without
he.  

She is just s waiting for he.  
He is just there waiting for
she to take a part of and be a part of.  
She and he could go on, but shall we just see
she alone?  
She is a quiet one with the hush built in.  
She makes a pucker or a sucker, and a grimace or a grin.  
She is kind to the mouth and good on the ear, soft and warm and smooth.  

She is good whiskey.  
She can get he drunk like good whiskey.  Drunk on
she,
he will stumble around running into things,
he will fall down, and
he will need help up.  
She will always be there unlike the whiskey to pick
he up to carry
he home.  
He is nothing without
she.  
He is just he waiting to be within
she.  Of course.  

He is short and childish, blunt and stubby.  
She is long and elegant, sensual and curvy.  
She rolls out of the mouth with grace,
he is shoved out with a huff and a puff.  

She is the word that makes
he be.

The car got towed last night
while I'm in the kitchen
greasy feasting on your side dish
would ya like fries with that?
putting spoons in spaghetti plates
when I go home and roll into taco bell
like an Egyptian pharaoh
buying all of the cinnamon twists
with a wallet flapping empty over the plastic and latex rings
condoms in my wallet from last summer
still optimistic
The gas light is on
and I just got a ten spot
with tobacco in my teeth
and house dressing on my jeans
I'll smile through the *******
and have a real nice time

he sits in a corner with a cigarette in his mouth and i can barely make out the features of his face behind the wispy smoke. i am wide awake and blinking wearily, my trademark playlist for the 'sad and lonely' beating away quietly in the background. our meetings have become frequent rituals where misery and metaphorical silence fills the air, gazing at each other until one gives in.

as always, he speaks first.

"and here we are, we meet again."

i stare blankly at him, watching the way his eyes glow under the dim light of my room. he is twenty to my seventeen and the three years mean nothing, not when he is here within arms' reach. it has never mattered, i think back in retrospect; i have loved him just as long.

"you insist on appearing when i least want you to return, why is that?" my heart clenches on itself harder, the beating of my pulse no different than angry smashes to my rib cage. i have come to hate our meetings, but i am powerless to stop them.

he grins and it is a stupid little thing, the cigarette rolling freely in between his thin fingers. the pause in his reply is long enough for him to take another drag, smoke billowing out in thin, circular shapes as he purses his lips together.

"you know perfectly why, it's because you miss me."

what a self absorbed, conceited *******, i find myself thinking. i lean forward to tear the cigarette out of his hand and crush it in mine, the heat a welcome sensation to the icy tension between the two of us.

"you're a terrible liar, you don't even actually smoke."

he stares at me properly now, eyes twinkling and fever bright.

"i can be anything you imagine me up to be - and today you wanted cigarette smoke and me to fill up the lonely."

the smell of nicotine slowly fades to that of a familiar faint vanilla and honeysuckle of my room, the image of the boy in my vision similarly humming silently in a preparation to disappear.

"i'll see you the next time you want me to. same time, same place?"

i have never been able to watch him leave, so i close my eyes and nod silently. there are only so many times you can watch a person leave you over and over again.

"of course," he whispers, and the smile in his voice is evident. "only for you."

-

by the time i open my eyes, he is gone.

(A.H.Z)

Eight months and sixteen days
Since you've been gone
Nine months and ten days*
Since we've last spoken to each other

It hurts to know
That your heart
Suddenly stopped

Do you remember
The time you made me laugh?
Those times you protected me?
The smiles that you gave me?
Well, it's all gone now