I want you; I want your everything.

I want to gobble your pain in my embrace
until your tears and snot soak up my shirt.
To dance to your laughter that resonates
in my skull, and your clever whispers
leaving my ears ringing for days.
To feel across the surface of your soul;
the coarse and smooth,
the dips and grooves,
the frigid and the flamed.
I yearn to savour you, your lips and your honey,
your sour history and your sweet dreams.
To breathe you in, to know your sweat
and your soap, your scent so well I remember
you’ve been here before if I’m ever alone.
To touch your static, your charge, your heart,
the one that makes mine melt and tremble.

I want you; I want your everything.

And if any part of you wants me,
my broken glass, my cute quips,
my puppy dog wags that only you can cause,
take it all. Take my everything.
It is yours.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow
(Alek the Poet)

Deep tranquil aromas
steamy mirrors
warm liquid all around
my senses come alive

fantasies of your touch
in places I soak
in this luxury
reflect

I lay back
and feel
knowing
You are right here, always!

Touch -
The most significant insignificance.
Sight -
The slightest intention.
Hearing -
The loudest silence.
Taste -
The most complicated intricacy.
Smell -
The love of the non-discriminatory.
You -
The "when all else fails".

the scratch of a record player
and a burst of static fills up
every corner of the room
thoughts in my mind are static

scratchy and skipping around
always bursting in annoyingly
during the best part of the song
intrusive and impulsive ideas

there the track skips a song
needle down another groove
losing track of the beginning
my mind down the rabbit hole

There are six ways to die on my table top

There are four ways to get lost in my cupboard

There are seven men drowning in my bottom drawer

There’s a coma above the ceiling fan

and an incinerator under my covers


Under the bed is a mouse trap

In the sink is a death trap

In the gap between the walls

is the most appalling noise

and my radio produces

only the frantic breaths of fitness breeders


The tortured hide under my pillow

(though they belong in my ears)

The glass in the window is made

of the slowest distorting tears

(I never produced them)


The carpet covers my blood

My clothes are covered in sod

The wallpaper hides my dreams

and my dreams have spilled at the seams

I collect masks that are the person I hid

Where do I sit ?

The door is a lid

The room is too warm

Enclosed

An expanding balloon

Paint me in the colors that you want me to be in.
Kiss me just as passionately as the colors burst right in front of your eyes.
Touch me like the rain does so casually.
Drip, drop.
Down, up.
Let me hear the soft tunes of those lullabies as I slowly fall asleep so deeply.
goodnight.

Go go, I'm going crazy
seeing everything at once

an overall picture from here
and there and from above and the side

the world, my room
the field full of sunflowers

in a vase and another vase
everything patched together

to fictional points of view
that blend into one another

like my brain does
with everything

that the nerves mercilessly
shoot in from my eyes

a collage like a painting
by Vincent van Gogh

Synapses crossing signs,
a mental ruse.
Where to draw the lines?
When senses mix cues?

Hearing sensations
Feeling hues
Tasting sounds
A sensory diffuse.

He smelled of soap, leather, cigarettes and heartbreak