Thumbs hooked through jean belt loops,
pulling her to you.
You kiss.
Over and over again, you kiss:
so many quick little pecks in a row.
I hope you don't
kiss your mother like that,
but is SHE your mama bird?
It's like you take nourishment
from her kisses.
Is she dropping
food into your mouth?
So greedy,
can't get enough.
Of her time, either.
The odd purity that comes
from being complemented
for the first time this way.
How she leans against your knee,
she's the missing puzzle piece.
The crook of her neck, there,
just there.
The pressure where she uses you
for a chin rest.
During any violent-as-you-wish
T.V. show and
she'd even be
cool to chill with you when
you're with your bro's.
Though alone time is the best.
All that you could ask for,
through hills and valleys
you ride along.
Everything is smooth and firm,
smooth and firm.
Smooth, no hiccup in the road.
Firm is the belief in
the reliability of the course.
They're hot;
the heat
rushes through them,
complete.
Ain't never gonna feel
this way again.
Not with anybody else.
You two could lie in bed all day.
We're making relationship flambe.
A secret recipe of
inside jokes and
somebody finally wanting your ingredients,
lit afire by some mystery combustible.
You'd deny 'til you were hoarse
that it's only flash in the pan.
Until one day, it seems like-
how can you have
all these shared memories,
all this love,
yet it's still as if the person standing there
is barely the same person from before?
No more pulling her frontward or backward
by her belt loops,
always pulling her toward
the pulse of your passion.
But the beat of love's life, at least,
grows faint, and she threatens
to take you out with it.
He'd seen her raise the gun,
for all the good it did.
A bullet hole in his forehead
And it's like his third eye's crying blood.
He didn't want to see
what he saw too long ago.
And he just delayed their misery.
Do you take your meat rare?
This cut's dripping in disillusion,
the animal neutralized, a dead
bag of blood and bones.
No; you're still
all-too human, though.
Alone in a room, it's all you can do
to remember to breathe.
But that's step one.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 9:32 PM UTC
Thumbs hooked through jean belt loops,
pulling her to you.
You kiss.
Over and over again, you kiss:
so many quick little pecks in a row.
I hope you don't
kiss your mother like that,
but is SHE your mama bird?
It's like you take nourishment
from her kisses.
Is she dropping
food into your mouth?
So greedy,
can't get enough.
Of her time, either.
The odd purity that comes
from being complemented
for the first time this way.
How she leans against your knee,
she's the missing puzzle piece.
The crook of her neck, there,
just there.
The pressure where she uses you
for a chin rest.
During any violent-as-you-wish
T.V. show and
she'd even be
cool to chill with you when
you're with your bro's.
Though alone time is the best.
All that you could ask for,
through hills and valleys
you ride along.
Everything is smooth and firm,
smooth and firm.
Smooth, no hiccup in the road.
Firm is the belief in
the reliability of the course.
They're hot;
the heat
rushes through them,
complete.
Ain't never gonna feel
this way again.
Not with anybody else.
You two could lie in bed all day.
We're making relationship flambe.
A secret recipe of
inside jokes and
somebody finally wanting your ingredients,
lit afire by some mystery combustible.
You'd deny 'til you were hoarse
that it's only flash in the pan.
Until one day, it seems like-
how can you have
all these shared memories,
all this love,
yet it's still as if the person standing there
is barely the same person from before?
No more pulling her frontward or backward
by her belt loops,
always pulling her toward
the pulse of your passion.
But the beat of love's life, at least,
grows faint, and she threatens
to take you out with it.
He'd seen her raise the gun,
for all the good it did.
A bullet hole in his forehead
And it's like his third eye's crying blood.
He didn't want to see
what he saw too long ago.
And he just delayed their misery.
Do you take your meat rare?
This cut's dripping in disillusion,
the animal neutralized, a dead
bag of blood and bones.
No; you're still
all-too human, though.
Alone in a room, it's all you can do
to remember to breathe.
But that's step one.
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