Bits & pieces of pixelated, ground up species.
We have conversations, but the conversing stops, when the lighting changes & the flirting fades. Between us we have nothing but a few soiled goods, & a bottle of cheap romance.


None of this poetry means anything, because your lips won't read the words. I knew you had fell out of love, when you...stop calling. The Cheez It's no longer held the same silly value. A back seat *****, you long forgot about.

I'd spend journeys, journeys with you. Lacing up laces. Crossed & laddered. Interweaving our emotions into one big shoe box. That no one will take off the shelf.

I feel nothing but a subtle head ache, missing & wishing the acid would kick in.