The Amstel. Christ.
Kilner jars full of fireflies
on redbrick windowsills.
Hormone therapy. Jesus.
Angel boys from Europe
trailing around behind me wondering -
and not caring - what the hell is in my pants.
Cold morning breezes
on scarred chest tissue and needle puncture marks.
Rows and rows of bicycles
and a fluttering pink scarf in the wind.
Roaring screams and sexless smiles
cold split knuckles and nonchalant breath.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
The Amstel. Christ.
Kilner jars full of fireflies
on redbrick windowsills.
Hormone therapy. Jesus.
Angel boys from Europe
trailing around behind me wondering -
and not caring - what the hell is in my pants.
Cold morning breezes
on scarred chest tissue and needle puncture marks.
Rows and rows of bicycles
and a fluttering pink scarf in the wind.
Roaring screams and sexless smiles
cold split knuckles and nonchalant breath.
