one

we're intertwined
         in imagined concepts
and we've got the same layout.
some sections colored the same
but we still look so different.

two

I feel like a story basket
locked in a casket,
avoiding spitting on graves.
you're the foam at the bottom:
           all I have left and I want more.
I'm just a foam hound daddy,
             a locked foam hawk.
you open your face, intoxication pouring out.
too much stimulation leads to lack of stimulation.

three

through my fingertips
budding beneath my eye lids.
I see what you're saying.
translate what you're feeling through my skin.


four

slabs of meat for hands,
place them on the stove.
(I feel better with my head close to the oven).
you've gotta soak in the seasons
or they'll fry off so fast,
it'll be all chew and no taste.
all **** and no chase.
I'm simmering
let me marinate.

five

social stimulation starts simmering smoothly.

six

okay,
I'll let my body make the decision when it remembers how to move.
too much to touch and not enough to stay away.