I am inundated with irony,
stuck in the spell of satire,
my eyes can’t see cars
free from the metaphors of stars,
but this evening
me and you

(we’re speeding compartments of light)


and eyes





you see,
you are my subtle hue
you are the coloured iris that enfolds my hollow pupil,
opening and closing in front of me like
hands catching sand in the sun by the ocean.

Your sweet lips
taste just like hers
I've tasted them before
Tasty honey lipstick
on top of yours
You rustled me
out of her door
Now you're on the inside
taking more than I could give
Sighing with your lips
on top of hers
She's wanting more
Give her another kiss for me
then hurry home
and kiss me with her lipstick
while I think of her
on top of yours.

r ~ 7/18/14

it's funny how
your muscles have a certain memory of things.

like how you can automatically tie
your shoelaces without even thinking
because you've done it so many times,

and how you can play this one song
on piano without even looking
because you've played it so many times,

and you kind of just lived with it
for a short while.

so when you spend a long enough time with someone
your muscles start to memorize
every action they make like how
they breathe into your chest as if you were the only oxygen left
on earth,
or how they fit perfectly
curled up inside you, like it was what your body
was made for in the first place,
and your bodies remember each other,
every slightest touch
can easily be replayed.

and what's funny is that
i can still remember you
even after all this time,
my muscles still imagine you
next to me
and it's funny that
you're not here anymore
yet my body still knows
where your leg would wrap
over mine (just above the knee)
and it's funny that
i'll never stop loving you
because that's what my muscles
will never forget.

if you were a drug i wouldn't have a sober vein left in my body.