i prolly
jus fell out of like
w u

when u
didn't text me back
about that awesome GIF
i sent
of the white Jets
snapping their fingers

It gets my attention
I sense it
thumb it
When it isn't present
It is what I look for
When awaking

Lips are too ambiguous
Hips
too calligraphic and
Precious
Fists too ******

So...

I'll stick with
My inanimate object
Glitches n all

The still English heat,
The ***** promise of July the 1st
Leaves the grass a mottled yellow
And the dappled shade of the purple birch
Almost holy.
Specks of precise and glittering pollen
Rest upon beds of browning foxgloves.
Cats are left collapsed,
Blissed out, lulled into dreams
of this motionless sun shining forever.

I feel your hands in my stomach
And I'm hungry for your grip
As the hot sky only ripens
My daydreams of your laugh.
The thick scent of withering hyacinth
Is the curve of your back,
the taste of your sweat.

A stain of certainty is baked in
By July the 1st.
Novocain for my infected English heart.
Whispering the start of a love that will be
kicking leaves through October
And sharing warmth through December.

We share a dim squint at eat each other
interrupted, rudely by your phone
I slither my hand down your chest,
rub you til the snooze alarm.

Our legs, once locked together
ungratefully untangle as I roll left
you roll right.
I make tea as you shower.

As you pick the dust from my eyes
and I complain,
the morning's hysteria hits us
and everything's funny.
And you're so beautiful.

Lying back I watch you dress
smoothing down your top,
wriggling into jeans.
When you're done,
I'll pull you back down,
undo all the hard work.
And ******* before you leave.

I
Here I am, drinking in my local bar.
There's a sadness in the air,
Relaxed,
Aged with the whiskey.
Cheaper.
Guy Fawkes night fireworks
are some forgotten war,
Flash bangs,
We're all in the trenches
Fighting
What exists in the smudged
Moonlight
And ages with the whiskey.

II
I've quit my job -
I hate these walls
I hate the brick dust that sits
Like an ash cloud.
Keep spinning
Catherine wheels, rocket cases
Fall from grace and tell me
Did I love these friends?
Let me hold you
My
Shallow
imprints in the mud.

III
Am I just hungover from
Halloween?
It's macabre.
Melodrama
full of the rich scent of rotting
Dead leaves,
And what the dead leave
Costumes, an ecstasy of
wanting to be watched
touching myself.

IV
I hope they know I love them.

Is this what I've become?
This twisted thing in prison,
shackled to a leather chair and a computer
typing out god knows what
at 2:44 in the morning?

Is this really what I am?
This child weeping in a corner
pretending to be a man
screaming at shadows
and bleeding nothing but sand?

No.

I am not an animal in a cage,
and I am not an empty shell
scouring the world in search
of other souls to fill some hell.

My dearest love,
If I were to explain the music in my ears,
It’d be an algorithm of lovely ardor,
Fervent beats and emotional rhythms,
Pursue a possibly tangible idea,
Shining lights and keyboards,
Coffee colored electric energy,
Pulsing in amber jelly motion,
A metaphorical knife is ****** into the solar plexus,
Stimulating the tear sacs,
Which then open and shed a bassline,
Which repeats in nonexistent space,
Maybe…
Just maybe…
It stretches into eternity.

Blinking cursor
Nemesis
Friend with benefits

I
Spill
Pixel

And disseminate wisps
A dais for your tor
Glyph of whim

Cursor that waits
I know you
I know you all too well

You grant a world of potential
And yet I'm all knees
I bite the curb

My words spent
conferred to a
Vampiric ligerhawk Nemo

Whom eyeballs me
Into an X
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