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you ask again
in response to warmth

But more importantly:
'Will you grow to love me?'

Again, like it was before?
i wonder
I always feel sentimental when it rains,
So, on sad days like this I leave the house without an umbrella.

With my headphones in,
listening to our favourite songs,
I walk past your old house.
Or the cheap restaurant we always went to.
Just so I can let my heart feel close to you again.
I must be so pathetic.

but when the rain stops
You will exist only as another memory.
So, I embrace the droplets on my skin,
Even if I do catch a cold.

On sad days like this I cannot help but wonder
if it’s raining where you are,
if you think of me.

So, until the next time it rains, we walk our own paths.
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
What thoughts I have of you tonight, October,
for I’ve never walked alone the way I ought.
A double-decade drained. Divisive and over,
comprised of people collected,
and characters stolen.

This I know though, what it seems,
More than the changing of my lot,
For this world I can’t imagine,
Has borne far less than what I sought.

Now I stand to face the breeze,                        a chilling wind, a scattershot,
See these leaves in perfect juncture, with their wilting and their rot.
For it’s innocence I’ve lost and it’s innocence I’ll bear
When this age creates misgivings and I can’t help but feel distraught.

Cheeks of flesh turn to cold and replicate these ones
the chips and the dents that summon the reason,
I take this, accept it, a tall child in season,
Twenteen, more than once.
I turned twenty on the 13th of October
People once friends and friends once strangers
framed in an honest landscape
eyes that squint in the trice of sun.
the splendour of their ambrosia

glaring and obvious, yet never enough.
a nostalgia borne from this beam
and an ephemeron that we cannot know
will one day seem distantly close.

bygone beloved, and in this moment even more,
the nature of the honey bee has changed for everyone
and is sweet in different circumstance

smiles are gifts  and laughs are frozen
frost that although altered seems the same.

nature appears eternally stuck
doused in today’s nectar,
as if it was always the same
the years just fly by and seem like one on brief reflection. its hard to realise that everything is far more changed than i think, but it is.
I walked into the cocktail party
room and found three or four queers
talking together in queertalk.
I tried to be friendly but heard
myself talking to one in hiptalk.
"I'm glad to see you," he said, and
looked away. "Hmn," I mused. The room
was small and had a double-decker
bed in it, and cooking apparatus:
icebox, cabinet, toasters, stove;
the hosts seemed to live with room
enough only for cooking and sleeping.
My remark on this score was under-
stood but not appreciated. I was
offered refreshments, which I accepted.
I ate a sandwich of pure meat; an
enormous sandwich of human flesh,
I noticed, while I was chewing on it,
it also included a ***** *******.

More company came, including a
fluffy female who looked like
a princess. She glared at me and
said immediately: "I don't like you,"
turned her head away, and refused
to be introduced. I said, "What!"
in outrage. "Why you ****-faced fool!"
This got everybody's attention.
"Why you narcissistic *****! How
can you decide when you don't even
know me," I continued in a violent
and messianic voice, inspired at
last, dominating the whole room.
  Mar 2018 pussy plugger 3000
No one can know your pain
Not nearly as well as yourself
But the rope won't take it away
It just gives it to someone else
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