he moons his pale flesh against the hologram of my liquored tongue as my right ankle shed's red wine from my bones to my flesh, my marrow is hush-puppy-tan to the pulse, and as to the likes of you, blue satin-ed and confused, your love's blonde blunted curls crowd your cellophane lungs and you breathe in the smoke of her, pale toned and honest, just the way you fry them, quick and in hot oil. I wonder of she teases you with her soft lips like I could, but I suppose we'll never really know.

I'm pretty sure I die with you every night. Miserable souls always seem to last the longest in this sent from hell world. Here comes the manslaughter, the impending doom of it all, the sideways games and glances that leaves my seat wet and my neck hungry for your hands, here comes the tragedies, mistaken suicidal attemptants at kisses that stream tripping in between sets and hollow stairs painted down my hips with the fire of you. Here comes the luster that doesn't lack. I think. Today would be a good day for everyone to disappear, including me, into you but you won't incline your hips into me 'cause last night I told you I once tried to **** a real good song so that I could own it's rights and lefts while spiraling into your lungs like a jail's black tongue. Here comes the poems and cults that Shakespeare shot down my inner thighs as you tattooed my lungs with the **** of your cigarettes. Here it all comes to ridicule me deeper into the middle of this crisis, here it all comes to take a toll on the planes of my mind as I shoot up high into sage tainted milli-universes. Here comes folded dollar bills cupped and lined against the tusks of my milky breath toned to the centerfold of your abdomen, here comes the part that hurts just a little bit more each time you come around. Here comes knowing you.

The ghost in your eyes tells me it's gonna be alright. ****** senseless on what might as well have been a two stacked mattress at Holiday Inn, your girl closes her yes and sees orange tones of red flashing down the white sleeves of your bland shirt,

she's on fire, heavenly so, she's on fire, a can of crushed fruit stuffed and so you feel for me, your dreams of wooly women curved of sheep and soul-y wandering across your aim, you fire, "I'm into it." as you set my frame a-glow. My legs twist into pretzels, see me baby. I am your Amazonian woman, wide-shipped and shimmering beneath the angry sun.

Orange hued and hungry for your blue American Spirited high yellow lungs, you find my funkadellic paraphernalic lips, swollen as they are for your candor.

I am Queen Ivy inspire, lucidly waiting to be the poison that inspires you, I sit lonesome on the stoop of anabandoned lot, Peter Penning down your inked arms, "Not only boys are lost," into your caramel Cuban coffeed dreams, "Girls can be too."

What live game do I remind you of, I wonder as you taste me, bitter kola nut forming across your lips as white swells of smoke ruin you, we are unbearably distant. One never hurt and the other already ruined once before and possibly never again: That sickeningly silly kind of shy but not that lingers cold to the blue flames you expel my way as dark clouds form into your eyes.

I am your Amazonian woman.

On a night like today, in a sea of shadows and whites, we ride thick on a camel toed carousel, tainted and unlocked, unkempt and hollow, we shake to the cores of your features, deep pallets of staining whites, we lay afraid and assuming, ready for something to roll deep beneath these  peppercorn brownie sheets. We dive shallow beneath assuming depths. Angled, silver octopus, arms stretched below your sea urchin ways. I wait infantile, an ever aging fetus floating through your chromosomes, very full and very hungry. This could be a stifling kind of like , but here I roam, free abd unnerving lushing down your spine

the first day I met you
I visited the store
and bought a new
journal. I wanted to
write you, so that I
could remember you in
script and in memory, I
wanted to have the chance
to be apart of your evolution,
I wanted to recreate you,
and scrawl you down through
the loops and curves of my words
I wanted to be apart of you in some
extended and intended with only well
regards, I wanted to write of you, freely
and openly, I wanted to write to you,
to make love to you, bleed ink over
white sheets, I wanted to write for you.