I wish I could have kissed you
the moment I saw you
in real life for the first time;
something like
running into your arms
and letting the world
turn into static,
only focusing on you.
Only you.

But that would have been
too dramatic. Maybe
you'd get shy all of a sudden
or think I am too forward.
So I just held your hand—
warm like a heavy blanket
and evidently bigger
than mine. Enveloping my hand
in the most comfortable of ways,
like some missing puzzle piece
that was bound to be together
no matter what.

That would have appeased me
don't you think?

No. Not really.
I have nothing to say.
I still want to kiss you.

I called to give you a rearrangement of irony and a bucket full of Jews, I tailor made a rebreather because the past connections were used . Indeed, just like a crossview that encouraged stars to collapse, then did a fix up for the X's and O's so every oxymoron followed with a laugh. A pail of shrubs, an ounce of yore, yesterday you were following your very own bated breath. Up until you challenged yourself to a duel, you didn't look so bad for a disastrous mess. Harms' Way could be the place in town where odds go to get even, or it could be the street where Blow-Pops aren't just made, but also handed out to toothless citizens. We the captured, please and thank you, sir and mam until our captors go, like if you imagine  The Godfather in The Graduate, describing how the Komodo dragon roasts. We haven't made it thru a single day since they've come in packs of seven, but today we'll have the chance to share some face time with the hours that we are being given.

Misty-eyed, mournful, and very sorry walked in separately from the yard. They drank cold-filtered PBR and joked about all the kids they may have fathered. Has it been four weeks or just four days, since the Ferguson, Missouri Captain resigned his post? I was always taught that for a captain to go out, he or she must go down with their boat.

In time where boredom lays around with dynamite by the loads, tomorrow remind me of the basorexia I've had since we met not long ago.

Beneath the woven moonlight
And the glistening lapidary against the sapphire eve
Like ice-flakes on a dark hood
For as great as my nearsighted eyes can see

With a cigarette in the driveway
And the feathers of those clouds falling down
My breath and the smoke runs away with the zephyr
And I’m alone again in this pretty how town

Without a sound
Waiting for you to come back around
Without a glance for the ground
Waiting for you to come back

Like the farmers wait for their flax
Or the women tend to the millions of moths
That sound like rain on the roofs
Or that sound like the crackling of my cigarette burning
Breaking the silence beneath the woven cocoon
Light of the white philtrum moon

It’s her and I and the clouds falling down
And just that single solitary sound
Waiting for you to come back around
Hoping you come back soon

(c) 2015

lips like magnets
hands like puzzle pieces
eye contact unshakable  
I lean forward
bite your bottom lip
looking for solace in your kisses,
but you pull away.
I am wrapped around you
my  bare thighs embracing your **** hips
our stomachs pressed together
yours strong against my hills and valleys
our hearts talking to one another
through synchronized heartbeats.
my elbows are perched upon your shoulders
hands tickling your hair as your nose
presses against mine
causing a ripple of shivers down my spine
at the realization of something starting.
once again you pull away
and I push my face towards yours
begging to be kissed.
you touch your lips my cheek
and then my jaw
you connect the dots from the scar under my chin
to the winged curve of my collar bone.
I lean back as you trace my neck
moving down the lines of my muscle
you kiss me across my chest
and with every peck my longing for your lips on mine
becomes stronger.
you return to your starting point
and pull away
leaving me whining and pulling at your hair
asking for that taste
that your lips allow
you sit back against the pillows and look at me
tuck my hair behind my ears
and sit up fast
pulling my face to yours again.
our lips make contacts with full force
mine mold into the long memorized shape of yours
fitting perfectly in the nooks and crannies.
almost instantaneously
our tongues shake hands
and I wrap both my arms around the back of your head
fingers lost in your tangle of hair
I kiss you harder
squeezing tighter
the space between smaller
urging our lips closer
love and passion mixing in the fiery heat between us
and I’m wishing more than anything to never stop.
on we go
with this dance our lips have memorized.
when we finally finish
our lips are chapped
tired from this exercise
I fall back onto your chest
and there I lay
exhausted but
satisfied.

I'd slit my wrist
for a passionate kiss
To touch longing lips
And tongue's subtle twist

I'd bite the blade deep
'Til the blood starts to drip
First slow and then fast
like my pulse in such bliss

I'd smile as the puddle
Grows round my kicks
and vision gets muddled
Having gotten my fix.

pink like a soft bloom

do not come near me with those
perfect pairs

for i cannot stop thinking
how would it feel

to finally put an end to enduring, thinking,
how would yours feel
against mine

i apologize for these
reckless thoughts

i wonder how you would taste—

maybe a little like wine

or maybe the balm you put
religiously

i'm sorry, i apologize

—1:19AM

kisses:
meant nothing
until you;
mean nothing
without you.

basorexia:
my lonely lips
begging for attention
from someone,
anyone.

desire:
wanting
my basorexia
to be cured by
your kiss.

which were the center of the Earth.
A rill, a gentle excite that rolled from side to side
touching the verdant moors and bridging the tepid winds
through the mirthy wood.
          
                                                                                                   She

afluntered, pivoting in circles,
pronouncing an aubade for a throng

anthropolatrating agelasts.

Her palms and dactyls outstretched. A chilliad had passed, still her astereognosis never produced the fields and trunks before her. Amending the acronycal light an aeolistic caitiff arose, piercing the crowd, rising to her circumference. This clapperdudgeon and callet woman rang out in a cacophony of sharp jabbering, then another blellum arrived, then another carker, soon they were all cloffin at the pyre.

                       Her lips

                                                       instantly wet, her mouth broke its pursed chastity, and among the meek she suddenly was overcome with an incredible basorexia.

And so she began, bussing left to right, osculating
the buffoons and bavians.
Some cullion tried their way

                                                                             towards & towards

   and then disappeared in a comestion, another dratchell roused himself, sudorous and covered in culch. The concilliabule was dwaible now, those who weren't prying for her kisses were dwaling about frantically croodling, mooing, even barking. This wild frenzied lot of basiation and baisements. Beazing in the dying sun she began to crose and cough. Her blood and spit, her saliva became estiferous and unstable, she began to eroteme herself, her healthy figure was now ectomorphic. Her thoughts were unsettling, she began to fantasize her own decollation. Some sauntering madman with a sleek leather overcoat and an enormous hatchet hunching over her. It overcame her, this auto deicidal ideology in addition, the sweet kir began to wear off, and all she could feel was lackluster, emptiness, indifference. Eventually her acrasia overcame her and in her accidia and overbearing mania she took her own life. Her head slipped from her shoulders and rolled casually past her body, her knees collapsing before her feet, before her torso. And the abderian men and women cackled,

just sat and stared

her life, her love, all gone and              disappeared.

Petrichor- the scent of rain on dry earth.
eunoia (n.) beautiful thinking; a well mind.
basorexia(n.) the overwhelming desire to kiss.
elysian(adj) beautiful or creative; divinely inspired; peaceful and perfect.
clinomania(n.) the excessive desire to stay in bed.
psithurism(n.) the sound of the wind through the trees.
aegis- protection, support
affable- 1. easy and pleasant to speak to; approachable. 2. gentle and gracious.
agrestic- 1. rural; rustic. 2. unpolished; awkward.
alexithymia- inability to describe emotions in a verbal manner
ameliorate- to make or become better; improve.
anathema- 1. a formal ecclesiastical ban, curse, or excommunication. 2. a vehement denunciation; a curse. 3. one that is cursed or ******. 4. one that is greatly reviled, loathed, or shunned.
antediluvian- 1. extremely old and antiquated. 2. occurring or belonging to the era before the Flood.
apodyopsis- 1. the act of mentally ******* someone. 2. imagining women naked; ******* women mentally.
apolaustic- devoted to enjoyment
apostasy- abandonment of one's religious faith, political party, principles, or a cause.
apricity- the warmth of the sun in the winter.
assuage- 1. to make (something burdensome or painful) less intense or severe. 2. to satisfy or appease (hunger or thirst, for example). 3. to pacify or calm.
ataraxia- calmness or peace of mind; emotional tranquility.
atrabilious- 1. melancholic; gloomy. 2. irritable; ill-natured; peevish
bailiwick- one's particular area of activity, interest, or authority
banausic- merely mechanical; routine. 2. of or relating to a mechanic
clandestine- done in secret; needing to be concealed.
curple- buttocks; ****
doryphore- one who draws attention to the minor errors made by others, esp. in a pestering manner; a pedantic gadfly
dystopia- 1. an imaginary place or state in which the condition of life is extremely bad, as from deprivation, oppression, or terror. 2. a work describing such a place or state:
ecdysiast- a striptease artist
effusive- 1. unrestrained or excessive in emotional expression. 2. profuse; overflowing
euphony- agreeable sound
flapdoodle- foolish talk; nonsense
frippery- 1. pretentious, showy finery. 2. pretentious elegance; ostentation. 3. something trivial or nonessential
gelid- very cold; icy
gigglesome- prone to giggling
globule- a small spherical mass, especially a small drop of liquid
inchoate- 1. in an initial or early stage; incipient. 2. imperfectly formed or developed.
incondite- 1. poorly constructed. 2. lacking finish or refinement; crude
indemnify- 1. to protect against damage, loss, or injury; insure. 2. to make compensation to for damage, loss, or injury.
kakistocracy- government by the worst or least qualified citizens
kerfuffle- a disorderly outburst or tumult
lachrymose- 1. weeping or inclined to weep; tearful. 2. causing or tending to cause tears.
lackadaisical- lacking spirit, liveliness, or interest; languid
libertine- 1. one who acts without moral restraint; a dissolute person. 2. one who defies established religious precepts; a freethinker
logorrhea- excessive, incoherent talkativeness
maudlin- effusively or tearfully sentimental.
noctilucous- shining in the night
nullipara- a woman who has never given birth
obloquy- verbal abuse of a person or thing
perfidy- 1. deliberate breach of faith; calculated violation of trust; treachery. 2. the act or an instance of treachery.
quixotic- extravagantly chivalrous or romantic
susurrus- a soft, whispering or rustling sound; a murmur
transmogrify- to change into a different shape or form, especially one that is fantastic or bizarre
tryst- a secret meeting between two people who are having a romantic relationship.
usurp- 1. to seize and hold (the power or rights of another, for example) by force and without legal authority. 2. to take over or occupy without right
vertigo- 1. the sensation of dizziness; an instance of such a sensation. 2. a confused, disoriented state of mind.
vitiate- 1. to reduce the value or impair the quality of. 2. to corrupt morally; debase. 3. to make ineffective; invalidate.
Papilionaceous- having the form of a butterfly, having corolla with two wings resembling those of a butterfly

A very short story about Basorexia..

I think someone put a hex on me.
And not even a good one.
I usually sleep in on Sundays,
but some intense force drug me out of bed at 7 a.m.
Stupid force.
After showering, I got dressed and
had breakfast. I wasn't even exactly sure where I was going.
But, I was going.
Before leaving my apartment,
I checked my appearance one last time
to make sure I was at least a 6 that day.
I did a triple take in the mirror because
my lips were looking exceptionally grand just then.
Oddly grand.
I ran a finger over them to make sure they were mine.
Softer than usual, I giggled for having to question myself.
"Of course they're mine." "That's just silly."
After having a drawn out conversation with myself,
I knew it was time to go.
The sun was looking  glorious that day
but all I could think about were my lips.

I saw my neighbor at the mailbox.
I usually just wave, but there that force was again,
pulling my lifeless body over to see her.
Her lips started to move around as if to say something to me.
She then asked me if I wanted a kiss! Was she reading my mind?
I did not hesitate.
I leaned in, closed my eyes, and puckered my juicy
unchapped pout for some of her sweetness.
Because that's what neighbors do, they lend you sugar.
What a sorry justification that was.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Parker was offering me a Hershey's kiss.
I froze with embarrassment as she leaned back and took off
into her apartment.
She left the entire bag of kisses with me.
As I power walked away, I saw Mr. and Mrs. Parker pull their curtains back in dismay. Whispering and pointing in slow motion.

I  decided I can never go back to my apartment again.
The shame has me wondering the streets,
consumed with this undeniable force,
trading chocolates for kisses.

i cold write poems about
klimt’s the kiss, soiled and stained in your garage,
how we’re all a mess of basorexia and urgent fingers,
darling, take me in your hands, i’m not gonna fall apart
like dead chrysanthemum petals.


i could write poems about long nights and long drives,
how the road had seen all those **** promises,
love, we’ll never repeat my parent’s history of falling out of love.
and yet history does rewrite itself
in different words,
different phrases,
different roads yet all the same.

i could write poems about
how you resemble the moon —
exquisite, beguiling,
and i am icarus,
all wide-eyed, all moonstruck,
all aware of the risks.

but no, darling

because as it turns out, this poem is about
the kisses planted on wrong places
and our bed, it’s filled with petals soiled by the earth.

darling, this is about us,
zipping ourselves in my parent’s skin,
oh how they lead us back to blood and bones
we’re running away from.

this is about the moon’s deceptive silver shades
and icarus,
falling,
plummeting,
crashing once more to the ground.

this poem is a mess of words
about our downfall.
this poem is a mess of words about you, darling.
a mess of words about you —
a mess of words about you gone.