So we’re sitting on this new wooden bench
outside the Trinity Christian lower school,
and Charis is talking to me about Michael Amico.
We’re skipping Mrs. Waller’s second floor study hall,
and she’s going on now about his passion for life,
his goals, aspirations.
He’s a star soccer player, you know,
president of the student government, too,
one of Charis’ closest friends.
And as of right now, the only openly gay kid in K-12.
Charis is a lover of people, and she loves talking about them
to other people, and today
she’s talking about Michael Declan Amico.
It’s been maybe ten minutes
and I hear her sigh then brush that away
with a lighthearted laugh, leaning in.
“I hope he finds a nice girl to marry.”

This silence seems to be fraying the string between us
from my clenched fist to her open heart
so I cough out a laugh,
see that Charis is oblivious to the danger,
and I let it fall, unsure
of what to do next.
Before I say something I wouldn’t regret,
we’re being ushered off the
bench by some assistant who saw
us through her window
playing hooky.

I Was Thinking About… *******

I was thinking well,
That ****** is just ******:
That and only that.
So what
Is all the fuss about?
It’s over when it’s over.
Then it’s over.
What is wrong with us?
Making all that fuss?
At eighty-three,
Experiential, observationally  
I know.
I knew that many years ago.
And so, I thought I’d share this piece of wisdom: wisdom’s peace.

I don’t imagine any creatures
In the world of nature
Go around with fantasies.
They’re made to do it upside down and right side up
Sideways, frontways; ways that burp and slurp and cup;
After courting, both exhausted,
Nothing forced, small joust completed,
There’s an end.
Splendid seconds or whatever,
He goes his way, never thinking back with fever.
Neutral fact, passing act,
Overrated,
We fixated.
Org-astic yes, fantastic –
But at best, an instant.

I Was Thinking About ****** 12.6.2017 Circling Round Eros II; Arlene Corwin
* ****** |ˈôrˌgazəm|
noun
a ****** of ****** excitement, characterized by feelings of pleasure centered in the genitals and (in men) experienced as an accompaniment to *******.

The ocean is so beautiful tonight .
Usually i think of it as scary but tonight its ok.
I see all the reflections of stars being tainted by waves.
But I'm looking for mars.
Sadly its somewhere in the ocean lost amoung the stars.
If only I could look into the sky.

it’s our anniversary babe
how long has it been now?
let me count
well i think after this week it’ll be three years
three years ago
you went inside my body coursed through the blood inside me and ripped me apart
three years ago you took a thoughtful moment to pick through my organs with your greedy hands
squeezing
caressing
you wrapped one hand around my throat and the other you stuffed down it
i could feel the ice from your fingertips in my stomach
you did it so good babe
killed me so good
i cant get the feeling out of my head
even after three years
i guess your just special
kiss my lips babe feel how cold they are just like yours
your kiss hasn’t faded away yet its there
lingering on my skin
burning it off with its freezing ripping cold
i’d let you finish the job you left too early three years ago
touched me all over and then left in the morning
finish ripping apart my seams
the threads are still whole
not broken
they’ve been barely keeping me together these past three years
i haven’t flicked a knife against them for so long
but the damage is done
the threads have become thinner
all you have to do is touch me again
you’d hear them snap
one by one
your job will be done
three year anniversary and i have so much to say to you
i think of what you’ve done to me
how you’ve never left my side since that night
that night in particular though
was just special
i’ll never forget it
the scars of what you’ve done still mar my mind
the scars of what i’ve done to myself
although inspired by you
mar my skin
this year i want so badly to let you take me again
**** me again except do it better this time
take it all the way like you didn’t last time
i have no reason to live anyway
let me follow your cold burning kiss into darkness please

deep down i know you wont do it though
your grip on me has slipped you’ve lost interest
just like everyone else
you took my will to live and then cruelly gave it back
and now i’m just stuck trying to make it better
never forgetting the taste you left in my mouth
on my skin
like chocolate but bitter and poisonous

happy three year anniversary you ruined my life



i’ll never forgive you babe
you wont even kiss me again babe

goodbye until next year



love, me

Perhaps it is time, I return to my roots.
Abandoned the topic, never let it bear fruits.
I have grown thin, my feet unfit for its boots.
But linger no longer, I shall return to my roots.

The clockwork gears begin to spin and words connect.
The cobwebs severed, time repairs the neglect.
The pieces of the puzzle slowly conjoin, my pencil *****,
I write down my lines, my latest project.

You know me as glue or Glueboi if preferred.
I know what you think, poems about glue are quite absurd.
But the line between glue and my soul has become blurred.
Gears are in motion, I've returned to my roots, no need to reword.

My effort is rewarded, the project is complete.
A poem about glue that no other poet can beat.
A poem which will be welcomed into the halls of the elite.
My victory tastes oh so sweet.

My anticipation rises, a chance to share with the world once more.
My magnum opus will be shared, my dark world will grow brighter.
It spreads its wings and soars.