Remember the suddenness. How it all came in pour, and not drips or drabs.
A dauber, you were, and how you'd have to paint barefoot.
(I used to love watching you take off
your socks)
Your jaw locked and intensity gaze magnifying and ablaze.
Licentious.
You taught me that word was more than ***,
and taught me to be archaic.

You would study my studied glare as I toiled my own art.
Mostly for show, because I didn't know what to do;
with my hands or the words that needed massaging
from their tense sinews.
Then you, fashion of a muse came dancing to my stag self,
awe shucks off to the side and we'd boogie in darkness.

I left you at the altar.
You blew me a kiss with a nervous laugh,
and told me your heart beat for me like free form jazz.
Even when the music stopped and our hips ceased,
from lips you creased and then from pout poured,
"I love you, Jonathan Lore."

I keep her clothing in the bed,
Fresh wet daggers of this concupiscent World. That is the standard. Don't you Hear it?
I watch the lamps and blankets singe
Cigarettes and Heineken
Nevermind, With the Lights Out
Everything is 'About A Girl',
And faking for no one.
'm too fuxked to know the difference
Stress is a knot that kills the young
I don't care about the other's wasting Their time isn't my business.

My sick is so short sighted. It carries a Black lighter inside its Gareth Pugh jeans.
Ann Demeulemeester top, Rick Owens Boots, an Obscur coat, Rad Hourani shirt
Henrik Vibskov socks, an MB999 tee.
Color is language for the body to read.
Inertia and energy protect me. I am the Opposite of a black hole. This vessel governs its own space, but I don't attempt To understand anything or any one thing.

This lizard brain keeps its ward and Wielding the almighty power of its Nightness, cosy's up near the Community of Death, Magic, and Numinous winter dirges, huffing Parfumes from her death-covered clothes.

offense may be caused so look away now
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still here? OK then

I am both ****
and philanderer, in word and deed
I once found Jesus
just so that I might **** a girl
lucky that my hypocrisy was perishable
I still smell of that earlier me than you might remember
when I was filthy in my wishfulness
the sharp torture of a tissued sceptre
left me embarrassed in a honey dipped daydream
where factional contributions turned wine into water
and revenants convened before the solvent sunset
of my eccentric heartbeat