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all for you Nov 2017
The final two
Her and I
Hand in hand
Like this won’t change a thing
As we await the results

She squeezes my hand
Whispers a gentle
It’s going to be us three
Like always
And i believe it

And as her name is called
I still believe it
Us three
Nothing will change
There was no real winner

If she doesn’t live up to the title
Here i’ll be
To take her position
To take on the roll
And all the responsibilities

She didn’t
And you come crawling to me
Begging me to take the title
To take her place
That i should’ve won anyway

I gladly take it
Because why wouldn’t I
It’s all i’ve ever wanted
You and I
The two as it’s supposed to be

While she’s off on her scandal
It’s as if the competition never happened
And it’s three years ago all over again
With me in the job
And all of the responsibilities

But the scandal lightens
Not as bad as you thought
And suddenly i’m not the winner
And i stand with a crown on my head
And a meaningless title

But you continue to tell me I won
As you tell her the same thing
And how she always says
It’s us three
Even though we know it never will be

But i let it go
As the curtain drops
As the cameras stop rolling
As the audience goes home
As you act like the scandal never happened

And here I am
As I watch the competition back
As I notice how this all really happened
How it is through a different lense
And I turn the television off

And I walk away
it always was her, it always will be, and it's time i accept my title, and walk away // love always
Martin Narrod May 2014
Gold crown of Olympus, hair crown and
Skin gown. First we throw our bodies at
One another. Heaping piles of human soup.
Bold maneuvers, hands and mouths and
Boy meets girl lying down, on top, intertwined.
Skittish moves on a tryst. Wet fingers of freshly
Tendered infinite decibel pleasure screams.
Streamers above a long rooting movement.

Overture of Aphrodite. Sparkling, glitter woman,
Legs pressed tightly to the chest,
Loose appendages intertwined. Intersticed dactyls
In rapture, soothing. Bodies build to one heart's beat.
Two muses fused together. If I wasn't afraid I'd wake you up
I'd slip on my shoes and make a tropical fruit fondue.

Stage two:

Ice cream lover's delight. Opus to brown sugar.
To swimming again, a pursed lurking of lips
In the academy of the pastoral commonwealth.
We eat at our stations of the sublime. Today which was
A day of discord- you nursed me back to the land of the living.

Stage three:


Stage four.


Stage five:

As we earn our pageantry to take
Stride on this Earth, and string a
Great bow of eager success among all of us,
You, me, them. While I continue to
Gaze at you. If not dinner, perhaps a
Cup of tea instead.

— The End —