Me - “My Mum’s getting worried” skinny
You - “God I want you right now” beautiful
Us - “Are they hanging a painting up?” loud
It’s release kindled with belief
that you could find that corresponding jigsaw piece
and I’m a corner piece - easy
and you are an outdoor cat - hardly tame
in that pair of black workout pants
and that flowing dark hair
You are like Spanish
beautiful, strange thing I can’t get my tongue around
I’m like somebody lmaoing on a chat room
efficient with my lack of substance
laying on the bed watching you get dressed
I drag on my imaginary post-coital
because I know you hate the smell of the real thing
unless its staleness is imprinted deep in my clothes
this disease has no known cure
the way the images slideshow their way behind my eyes
the way my blood is rerouted
every time I catch a smell of your sweat
or a memory of your taste
like faces on passing trains -
eyes locked momentarily
I went from student to drop out to student to lover of life
if life were a metaphor for the way you move those hips
you said you don’t know how to dance
well your tongue must’ve been taking night classes
maybe one day I’ll ask your last name
maybe one night you’ll say mine like a confession
but until then, special little stranger, keep bringing that *** over to my place
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
Me - “My Mum’s getting worried” skinny
You - “God I want you right now” beautiful
Us - “Are they hanging a painting up?” loud
It’s release kindled with belief
that you could find that corresponding jigsaw piece
and I’m a corner piece - easy
and you are an outdoor cat - hardly tame
in that pair of black workout pants
and that flowing dark hair
You are like Spanish
beautiful, strange thing I can’t get my tongue around
I’m like somebody lmaoing on a chat room
efficient with my lack of substance
laying on the bed watching you get dressed
I drag on my imaginary post-coital
because I know you hate the smell of the real thing
unless its staleness is imprinted deep in my clothes
this disease has no known cure
the way the images slideshow their way behind my eyes
the way my blood is rerouted
every time I catch a smell of your sweat
or a memory of your taste
like faces on passing trains -
eyes locked momentarily
I went from student to drop out to student to lover of life
if life were a metaphor for the way you move those hips
you said you don’t know how to dance
well your tongue must’ve been taking night classes
maybe one day I’ll ask your last name
maybe one night you’ll say mine like a confession
but until then, special little stranger, keep bringing that *** over to my place
Request permission to use this poem