empty, he hangs
hunger echos eternally
euphoric echelons unreached
up tips the glass
all sixteen ounces vanished
split second, drained down
our dry roiling throat
oscillating, undulating
fleshy chords twanging discordant
as our eyes scan
the floor
for food
the hunger is
not unknown to
me. he speaks
his piece each evening,
growling guttural in the
ear of my psyche
in a word-like lilt
he needs
a constant cadence to
feel full, as he
enthusiastically entreats
every evening
tonight is no
different. across the
table he sees
one. entrée du jour.
body fills with foul
pitch and sulfurous fire.
and shame, of course,
always shame.
i shouldn’t need this
and neither should he
prescriptive philosophies aren’t particularly
obtainable, he
offers ourselves
rising, a snap
audibly cracks from
my ailing back.
ours? his? hard to
quite say these days
but i digress anyway
we’re halfway to target
rolodex of first topics
spinning manically
searching, manipulating, looking for
that lone loquacious line,
algorithmic in its alignment
to enthrall
engulf, enamor
the spotlight of
consciousness is fickle,
you see. bodies
are only loyal to
themselves. they contain all.
and mine, sometimes, does
not even contain me.
no warning, he simply
begins his hunt, filpped
light switch
so banal and flippant
i am not needed
and so aside cast
succubi schema
sunsetting sense
i don’t know
where i go
it is the
sense of nothing, absence.
my body simultaneously there
and gone. i feel
some of it. pleasure
sneaks seductively up into
my sinew and bones.
i always wonder who
was first
which of the ******
spirits presiding amongst my
cells was the first
to see
sumptuous sunlight
as his evening
seeps into me
squeezing into the
small spaces where i
still exist, i flux
both small and sprawling
my void form changes
with me, taking direction
from my wandering thoughts
“was he born here?”,
i inquire
ineffably to no one.
expecting an answer, none
comes. just the squawk
of *** and sheets,
vibrato voices
vigorous, vehement.
couldn’t say who
was first out
but i’m first
up today, rays rousing
from sleep and stupor.
i see her with
my eyes for the
first time, curled up
like a kitten, exhausted
of the evening’s destruction.
cast into her shoulder,
his teeth
show i’m the stranger
here. like mine but
aren’t. can’t be. never
met me. still, she
serenely slumbers
silent, sensuously
voiceless now in
his void, we
are finally separate.
abandoned to the labors
of the morning, infernal
impulses satiated, i go
method, best impression donned.
she is, obviously, confused
by the reality of
me. former affection burning
away like vampire’s flesh
in light of day
succubi’s *******
now gone dry. so
too it’s mosquito’s charm
subtle and soft, now
irritated, vulnerable. hurt. and
alone i
am again.
Feb 26, 2025
Feb 26, 2025 at 7:04 PM UTC
empty, he hangs
hunger echos eternally
euphoric echelons unreached
up tips the glass
all sixteen ounces vanished
split second, drained down
our dry roiling throat
oscillating, undulating
fleshy chords twanging discordant
as our eyes scan
the floor
for food
the hunger is
not unknown to
me. he speaks
his piece each evening,
growling guttural in the
ear of my psyche
in a word-like lilt
he needs
a constant cadence to
feel full, as he
enthusiastically entreats
every evening
tonight is no
different. across the
table he sees
one. entrée du jour.
body fills with foul
pitch and sulfurous fire.
and shame, of course,
always shame.
i shouldn’t need this
and neither should he
prescriptive philosophies aren’t particularly
obtainable, he
offers ourselves
rising, a snap
audibly cracks from
my ailing back.
ours? his? hard to
quite say these days
but i digress anyway
we’re halfway to target
rolodex of first topics
spinning manically
searching, manipulating, looking for
that lone loquacious line,
algorithmic in its alignment
to enthrall
engulf, enamor
the spotlight of
consciousness is fickle,
you see. bodies
are only loyal to
themselves. they contain all.
and mine, sometimes, does
not even contain me.
no warning, he simply
begins his hunt, filpped
light switch
so banal and flippant
i am not needed
and so aside cast
succubi schema
sunsetting sense
i don’t know
where i go
it is the
sense of nothing, absence.
my body simultaneously there
and gone. i feel
some of it. pleasure
sneaks seductively up into
my sinew and bones.
i always wonder who
was first
which of the ******
spirits presiding amongst my
cells was the first
to see
sumptuous sunlight
as his evening
seeps into me
squeezing into the
small spaces where i
still exist, i flux
both small and sprawling
my void form changes
with me, taking direction
from my wandering thoughts
“was he born here?”,
i inquire
ineffably to no one.
expecting an answer, none
comes. just the squawk
of *** and sheets,
vibrato voices
vigorous, vehement.
couldn’t say who
was first out
but i’m first
up today, rays rousing
from sleep and stupor.
i see her with
my eyes for the
first time, curled up
like a kitten, exhausted
of the evening’s destruction.
cast into her shoulder,
his teeth
show i’m the stranger
here. like mine but
aren’t. can’t be. never
met me. still, she
serenely slumbers
silent, sensuously
voiceless now in
his void, we
are finally separate.
abandoned to the labors
of the morning, infernal
impulses satiated, i go
method, best impression donned.
she is, obviously, confused
by the reality of
me. former affection burning
away like vampire’s flesh
in light of day
succubi’s *******
now gone dry. so
too it’s mosquito’s charm
subtle and soft, now
irritated, vulnerable. hurt. and
alone i
am again.
