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frank-sterncrestPoems
a blushing van rolls to a stop. he steps out onto the school parking lot walks around the embarrassed bumpers clad in duct tape and inaccurate repaintings brazenly so sure he has it all. she slides off the hood of a manicured foreign tank hulking and onyx. they embrace too long something is up he is wary. arms at her sides she reaches for his lips he does not look down he is wary she leads him to the grass his suspicion turns the green from vibrant to synthetic he is wary. they sit across from each other no table to negotiate over. she is sure of the future unsure of the way through the present searching for words. he prods she speaks she reaches for his hands he tries to sit back on them she catches his fingertips he knows. sitting she leaves him. sitting he calmly waves goodbye and heads in another direction. still on the grass he so it goes, eh? she hah, vonnegut. days weeks months years jubilantly lilt by. he is becoming a whole looking to pair up instead of a half scrabbling for completion. she takes trips draining coffers on other continents. in between vacations another party another one-word encounter become but tallies on a scoreboard no one reads until she finds him squeezed onto a full couch tripping. she slurs pre-vomit hurt and frustration. he looks at her he is weary. he was free. in this moment he is trapped on loop. she stuck a fork in him chest bleeding it was not enough. she honed his lust against his pride until the fork hummed a tune only for her. the vibrations cease he stops singing. he is hoarse. it is over this is overdue he finished with belting out softly speaks. she you just don’t say that he why not?
0
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 5:42 AM UTC
kind words (for spurious pretenses)
a blushing van rolls to a stop. he steps out onto the school parking lot walks around the embarrassed bumpers clad in duct tape and inaccurate repaintings brazenly so sure he has it all. she slides off the hood of a manicured foreign tank hulking and onyx. they embrace too long something is up he is wary. arms at her sides she reaches for his lips he does not look down he is wary she leads him to the grass his suspicion turns the green from vibrant to synthetic he is wary. they sit across from each other no table to negotiate over. she is sure of the future unsure of the way through the present searching for words. he prods she speaks she reaches for his hands he tries to sit back on them she catches his fingertips he knows. sitting she leaves him. sitting he calmly waves goodbye and heads in another direction. still on the grass he so it goes, eh? she hah, vonnegut. days weeks months years jubilantly lilt by. he is becoming a whole looking to pair up instead of a half scrabbling for completion. she takes trips draining coffers on other continents. in between vacations another party another one-word encounter become but tallies on a scoreboard no one reads until she finds him squeezed onto a full couch tripping. she slurs pre-vomit hurt and frustration. he looks at her he is weary. he was free. in this moment he is trapped on loop. she stuck a fork in him chest bleeding it was not enough. she honed his lust against his pride until the fork hummed a tune only for her. the vibrations cease he stops singing. he is hoarse. it is over this is overdue he finished with belting out softly speaks. she you just don’t say that he why not?
frank-sterncrest
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frank-sterncrest
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 5:42 AM UTC
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