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Restivo Jun 2010
of course the only thing i miss of you is your body.
                                         by the end
it was the only thing of you i really truly ever had.
- january 2010
Restivo Jun 2010
things continue to break within me.
the weight of this slowly snaps the supporting structures of my body.

---

a creak
and a small quantity of burning liquid
sloshes over the edge of its fleshy chamber
dripping down the sides of my lungs,
my heart,
leaving streaky yellow marks down the insides of my ribcage.

a crack
and i freeze
suddenly scared to move lest my now unstable stomach container should fall
and my guts topple over themselves
landing spaghetti-like
draped over my womb.

a dull snap - muscles in my face break like aged elastics
they do not spring back quickly
but creep and crinkle slowly away
leaving my lips trembling to support themselves and leaching with them the red from my cheeks.

a slight ******* sound as my retinas detach
but only momentarily: i fling my eyes open in shock and alarm
knocking them back into place.
this sudden movement
however
stretches out my eyelids
and leaves them slack and sluggish.

i am so tired of this constant pressure slowly condemning my body
and now it shows in my eyes.

----

a desperately bound memory of
- greasy hair and welling eyes -
breaks free of its haphazard moorings and wreaks havoc throughout:

falling first past my face
spilling all holds of liquid there
which pour out of my body
gushing free
dripping and messy

it sticks next in my lungs
blocking my sighs
it bounces upon my diaphragm
gaping gasping for air
that i cannot use

it congeals in my bowels
sticking them in their place
preventing their minute movements
those tiny undulations that are the visceral workings

it finally crumbles and filters through my bones and blood
this fine memory powder filling my feet and calves.
it is heavy and densely packed
and i must move ploddingly now.

though dry and breathing and vibrating again
the memory’s toll is seen and heard and felt on my
salty cheeks
wheezing throat
tense body
and slow pace.
- october 2009
Restivo Jun 2010
remember when you ****** the marrow out of my bones
                    slurp and down in your belly
and how angry empty it was
and how you tried to fill them back up
                    with words like cottonballs
and how hollow they were and how hollow were my bones
and how our sounds had changed
                    from warm and slick slippery ******* when we parted
                    to dull clackety skeletons
                    accidentally bouncing off each other:
                    dry tock-tock-tocks and echoes
and now my marrow’s all grown back
and rosy is my colour again
and if i jump your bones now
                    maybe it will sound softer and squashier
                    maybe we can be moist again
                    maybe we can be apart but not lacking warmth
and maybe we can be parted but not lacking warmth
- december 2009
Restivo Jun 2010
can you pick up more chicks if they don’t think you’re in a relationship
                                                    ­         probably
                                                        ­                  so can i
- december 2009
Restivo Jun 2010
sometimes a kiss is just a kiss.
sometimes it doesn’t represent
love,
or need,
or loyalty.
sometimes it is just one pair of lips
against
another.
no sparks,
no lust,
just touch.
- 2003
Restivo Jun 2010
your hot little hands shoot fire in through my genitals and out through my teeth.
i SCREAM.
i strain my spine in an electric arch.
my muscles - seared from the inside out, they stick together and to my skin.
i am contorted in flames, white-heat melting my eyeballs.

                                                      ­                          gasp it’s gone

i consist of a heart and lungs in frantic motion.
all the rest has died.
- april 2010
Restivo Jun 2010
afterwards,
lying there,
panting,
throats raw from roaring,
finger-shaped bruises all over,
too sore to move,
when we slowly uncloud from the bliss,
do we even remember the moves?
- november 2009
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