out in the mountains, when my feet are pressed and purpled from pushing the world to roll her callused breast, then each breath, deservingly, funnels the friction into fire.
but here our milk flesh thumbs flick the ridges of the flint and through trees we **** a Bic just to exhale flame again.
oh-two deprived at altitude or getting high with all the dudes youβd count them as two trails that lead to the same place
but thatβs just what the map says. neurotransmitter math has sold, by weight, the dopamine wrapped like gods great gift in threads of nervous lace
and you forget that different paths never summit the same if steep, or shallow, the peak can be epiphany pleasure or just good ****
in green pill bottles, they trap the trees and plastic cages hang on me when the weight of our minds bends our necks towards the asbestos sky where porous plains of ceiling tile have us counting holes in the light
so you see my disappointment, when you were too ****** or drunk or cold and said it would be better if we just went inside
as we circled up the stairwell you stepped easily on plaster pieces of white ceiling that had fallen to concrete
perhaps it is from fear that some can find a comfort having heavens built so brittle that they crumble within reach