i’ve memorized the record grooves that impart your voice,
your lungs,
your soul
to me.
a quiet tune of drunkenness and anarchy
that ends with a kiss.
it’s true, i desire you greatly.
i need to feel your aching spine and whiskey lips,
and even though it’s all a fantasy,
i’m in chains again.
for the fourth or the fortieth time, i can’t remember, only that a token of kindness can send me into swirling spider webs and i think you’re the best - above all the rest - like i always do, each paper doll comes down the path and i claim him, i love him, and i see him everywhere, but when the buckles are latched and i throw the key at him,
he doesn’t notice, and fades away.
maybe you’re better, but you’re certainly like all the rest and this charade will play on and on.
and i shall crumble, become the dust and dirt underfoot.
and you’ll ascend, not knowing i exist.