You hide (fear) your feelings
better than me (I)
fetishized flirtatious banter
(that is) cavity syrup sweet

I’m contemplating the calculus of your eyes
mind ******
by the shell game Sudoku/chattel slavery chess of our distance


Your movements a projection film noir  
my favorite cinematic fetish
The flesh?
The mind?
... a thousand stolen glances (for the thousandth time I love you)

What would (should) you have me (i) do
I'm an open book (chest)
I could write (carve) our (your) story (name)
on a thousand lonely pages (my heart)

Day by day they glean more knowledge of their fishy world.

While the old philosophish still argue over watery definitions,
geolofish have dug deep down below the rotting leaf mould
and declare the world is made of shingle.

Meanwhile the astrophysifish have theories about
how it all began, Big Splash the main contender,
and speculate on whether there is life beyond the Pond.

But the frogs just laugh at all this. They know the delicate
taste of slugs and snails. On summer nights they sit
on stones to take the air and contemplate the stars.

Like the needle that drives through my heart, you glisten in the sun.
You sparkle and shine like a jewel in the light.
I see myself in the mirrored image.
A reflection so small and insignificant I am lost under your thumb.
This needle becomes encased deeper into my heart.
I cannot retract it because the thread has been lost.
Spindled into a web of unfortunate lies.
Powerful sentences that hold no authority.
If you hug me this needle causes me pain.
So why do I still yearn for your touch.
Like drugs.
I am dying from the addiction.
Being crippled by the want.

So crush me like a flower under foot.

Close me like a finished book.

End me like a summer spent.

Lose me like time that came and went.

avenue sounds are never agreeable, ignore the drift,
ignore the hum,
ignore the suburban neophytes in the city lights (I never did care much for hipsters).
ignore rapid eye movements, the flush red face, ignore the snapshots of you that adorn my semi-sleep state

I stare at my ceiling and see the cobblestone summer streets you once graced, long ago in the eternal occident, I want to ignore but I’m so very boozed, in a blue lucid slumber:::

eyes closed::: my head spins and sleep begins with the tidal delirium of dopamine drips, your legs, your hips, I’m drowning a bit, doused in a sanguine sweat inside a fantasy (**** I’m dreaming of you)

Synaptic friction
she is a pleasant fiction  
flash/sparks segue a dormant memory ,
the two of us riding familiar highways::: she gazes at me with her usual emerald encased ocular torment, those limbal rings cast aspersions at the last vestiges of my will power, until, I’m done, done in by the divinity of her lips:::

There is no end to (your) energy
It even finds me here::: in my dystopian  dream (eternal)
now
an inescapable, myopic curse
(nocturnal):::
the nightmare of not having you near

Awake, I roll over to clutch for the pacifier of your comfort (violent midnight)
I find only a fragrance,
i flail, searching, when those flashbacks fall short
isolated into the banality of bedsheets and pillows pleats

(the retrograde nature of my reality, now readily apparent)



cdh