A shower of rainbow beads
ricochet from my fingertips,
warm mist quietly descends,
whispering secrets from the Heavens,
a trap door for sunlight.

Sticky sheets
gooey in between.
Shivering through shouts,
nights last loud.
tickling me with your eyes,
hands moistening thighs,
pale gasps,
crinkled crys,
and waves that rolled then calmed us
close, too close.
Naked, nestled real
in silver hands.
Sweaty smooth,
and gritty
sand.
Fresh faces hot against backs
and kissing
to find pillow lips
plump
and flowing with neon lights,
crakling life.
sweet, following sleep
to the rocks of electicity,
creating soothing simplicity in me.

I  may have crushed all the delicate
Crap
of my soul

that "ever yearning for you"
that washes up on window panes  

the constant deflation,
cowering
chained-up-into-deep-corners-of-destruction-and-self loathing pain.

I plummet face first into the ground.
scuffed skin splintered with stone, a few broken bones,

and a nervous chuckle
are the first breaths of liberation.

I try to mimic the touches that you've made,
here when I’m alone
but I can’t seem to trace the slow
slow
trails,
the ripples
the shivers,
the heat
that you've garnished over my skin,
the feel of your finger tips
sliding along the seams of my sweater,
riding along the ridges of my spine
down and round the valleys of my senses.

I try to mimic the touches that you've made
alas, when I’m alone
my timing is always
slightly off,
your touches feel like a stranger's,
never quite right.
And those carefully carved moments
the order of movements
of walking through the door
to familiar ground,
and laughter
with a twist of lime,
a kiss
and release,
timing that sigh of relief
settling down into the confines of our choices
starting a scene that always seems
to end in a dream sequence in my mind
realizing that it abruptly begins,
and painfully ends in time.

I've got one golden thumb
that's worthless,
heavy at high fives

and two corkscrew eyes,
that role around like dice
when I lie.

A heart shaped nose
that I use to seal envelopes
instead of a kiss

and cotton ball lips
soaked with sweat
from your fingertips

My ant farm abdomen,
consuming to the beat
of bodies and waste

Legs with feet, feather up
thickly, like smoke
coming in at first place.

I am kind of pretty,
not his kind of pretty.

still, I feel ******
...this ram-shackle city

While he in his shiny town,
hold no pity.

when the giggles have gone,
all you've got are the *****

laying in bed remembering sensations
conversations,
places.
These moments brush my cheek
then smother me like i'm an illness,
but they can't get away.
These memories hide from my glances.