You hold my hips as we listen to Kaskade
I'm never going to know the exact name of the song, darling
I rest my head on your shoulder
Exactly 72 hours or more after we met
Smiling serenely at each other, trance-like
Our bodies swaying to some invisible beat residing in our heads

We never do watch that Minions movie in Dunellen
We do eat cold leftovers of Chinese takeout
Retrieve them from the mini fridge in the hotel room
Congealed chicken and broccoli and your beef dish
We eat cold slices of Margarita pizza from the first night
Shared an Italian dessert with two spoons and one glass and thought nothing of it
Talked of your ex as if you'd driven out to see me for months instead of just that one time
Smell **** in the hotel hallway when we come back from our escapades
Joke that maybe we could ask the other patrons two rooms down for “a sample.”

The room becomes a home
We domesticate ourselves
Trap our secrets and nightly admissions in the thin walls
Share a toothbrush
I model for you in your old boxers
You grip my hips and kiss tortured minds out of our systems
On the first night, you fumble for me in the darkness
We had *** hours before
I'd only had one pair of clothing
I was high on hypomania
You were lonely and desperate and enamored with the idea of me
I heard your voice in the pitch black of the room
Disembodied, floating, pining

“Taylor...? Are you awake?”
“Yes,” I answer back, stifling a yawn
Demons crawled along the surface of your bronze skin
I could feel them too
They were always there, slinking into the corners of every room
Perching on the windowsill, furtively glancing at us
Unseen, invisible, unknown, silent stalkers

You ask me about loneliness
You speak about your worries for an “us” not even a week
After your Facebook friend request
“I don't know if we'll work out in a relationship,” you say
I watch you with my large brown eyes, inquisitive
Bite my lip, taste the salt of you on my bottom one
Taste your skin and spit on me

Hours before you'd clasped my leg, it, laying on your shoulder
You pounding, feral, all wild animal, sweat on your brow
Grunting quietly, watching me, looking at nothing and everything at once
You **** me until I'm completely dry and sore
Lament that you want to be inside me still, that it *****
I think, oh how it does
We took off our glasses to blindly ***** at each other in the darkness
You'd said you liked how it sharpened the senses
I was a repeating rainstorm, endless, Summer showers in the bedroom
Hot, sticky, palpable
You taste saltwater, briny, sea, inside of me

“I don't know if we'll work out together
When we do go back and if we do end up together
It'll be disastrous,” you fortune-tell
I bite my tongue, taste salt and pennies in my mouth
I swallow it down wordlessly
Hours later, you're back in PA
I message you on Facebook, my heart in my mouth
I want to ***** with the amount of anxiety,
Tremulous in my fingers, humming in my blood
Throbbing, alive, achingly


“I don't intend to fall for people usually...
But I've fallen for you
I don't think I can keep talking to you like this
I'm usually scared of falling for people,” I write
You reply without any trepidation
Some strange confidence and Siren call beckoning you
Some spellbound hook curling around your fingers
“I'm emotionally invested in you too
Look, I understand
But I enjoyed my time with you
Let's at least be friends
It's not easy for me to shake someone off.”

Two months later you tell me, after messaging me at 10am
To see how I was doing
That when your room mate was wildly ******* his girlfriend you thought of me
“Most days I think of you.
You're in my daydreams
I come home and I wish you were here
That I could come home from work and you'd be there waiting for me.”

I try to scratch you out of my head, now
It hurts too much
I told you I was in love, I tried to deny it but now it's more apparent
I message you and get silence in response
Talk to someone else
Have ******* with another man
Purge it out of my system
Stick my fingers in the back of my throat
Try to puke. Nothing. Dry heave.
Encourage him to see me and then I encourage him not to
I lose about five pounds

I think about you and your stupid dog and cat
I think about you and the daydreams
I think about you and other women
How you'd **** them
How you'd take them out to dinner and hold their hands
Rub their fingers with your thumb
How you might be

Your hands
Your soft breath
The bright gleaming eyes
That strong German jawline
That fleeting mood,
Upswing and downswing
Your insistent arrogance
The hot tongue on my hardened ******
You suckling
Dark heat emanating from your wet and warm mouth
******* me on the couch
Clasping to each other
Burying our heads in each others' necks
Slow rocking back and forth
Rhythmic
Our shirts still on, your jeans half-way pulled down
You entering in such haste and hunger
The board game forgotten on the table
Laughter muffled by your feverishly kissing me
Did you love...? Did you?

I think about the physicality
But then I think of the late night conversations I'll never get back
Your sleepy “hello” at 1 in the morning
Philosophical musings I never tell my friends that we had
Us, talking about literally nothing in the beginning
The lingerie site we subscribed to
Looking through catalogs of what you'd see me in
You saying you could buy me something to model for you
The *** chairs we looked at, furniture to purchase
Odd daydreams of a coupling that almost-was but never-was

I think about you holding me even though you're so unused to it
The smell of baking banana bread
That inner battle in your head when you saw me the second time
That sadness
That loneliness
Your... “don't forget to come back.”
Cologne on your medical scrubs
How I didn't want to let go
How I wanted to stay
God, how I wanted to stay and just do better
The kiss and then...I wonder if there was a lie in your mouth
No, I don't think so
Was it my fault to fall?
No, I don't think so
Was it yours?
No...I don't think--

I feel at peace when I’m with you

I look forward to the future
Where I can be next to you

Maybe just see your face
All the beautiful parts
That make you, you

And there, everything would be right
There, everything would make sense to me

And maybe, just maybe

That’s a good enough reason to try.

forpustet eksistens, forkrampet hygge, udmattende omtanke, tung luft

           akavet venskabelighed,    fortumlet interaktion

ligger og skrumler rundt i mig selv lige pt, du ved

      skriver digte der dernæst glemmes

               'ved ærligt talt ikke, hvad der fremkaldte eller inspirerede dette'

føler mig som én den ene dag og en helt anden den næste
           hvem er jeg overfor dig?     tilbageblikkets endegyldige tvivl og    
   hjernens omdrejninger

smilende øjeblik,
       derefter melankolsk
du fremvækker en mærkelig, blandet følelse

hvordan kan man mærke, hvorvidt øjeblikket er essentielt? kan hjernen
          filtrere al støjen væk    ?    

               tanken om, at alle disse mennesker en skønne dag

        vil glemme mig.
glædelig fødselsdag!


              farvel!
      hvem er jeg uden dig
  
        velkommen tilbage, fremmed følelse
                    velkendt person

    farvel

The metro station caged the slumbering metropolis
From this dingy mid-March town fridged in January wind
A ******* clad explorer marches in mellow strides
All the way to you
To back the lover's whisper spoken by static selfies
With fleshy whiffs, a borrowed jacket and a gawky face
Blind to but maybe fiddly pepples on the ground.

Down at a backstreet diner, its locked out doorstep,
A hygge cover made for two,
Humming low is the city's nocturnal remains' dubstep
Coming from an illuminating exit,
Luring the busy hands and buckled excitement, whereto ----

Whereto the vacant main street glides them
With the at ease traffic,
Down loops of everextending branches
I followed you
To the roundabout between
two surrounding glassware towers
Where gleaming sparks ***** on each other's windows
Divining themselves by lighting up pavements, entrance signs
and glooming heavens.

Corridors, lawned with clutters from refurbishments,
Lead to glassrooms of suspended business meetings,
And that cozy cavern,
Where you flump into a swivel chair.
Your inhibited expression unwinds
As my curious caress explores
The damp torso slumping deeper into the pliable seat.
And a devoted twitch of ecstasy, blossom unexpectedly
On your face,
Which already shied itself away from its audience,
Doubtlessly, for way too many times ----
A candid sight I could only cache from you,
Because I intend to see it again, your effortless reaction.
The sarcoma-like lump left uncut at the bottom,
Wrinkled like wind waves in a Ukiyo-e drawing.
I scoop the saline ripple, so you can taste it beforehand.
Our bodies started gravitating
onto each other or all over the place.
And lips, they startlingly perched,
out of wills, like magnets
For the very first time.

I've been feeling patient.
And I love taking my time with you

ironically, love has ofttimes robbed me of my sanity & my peace of mind. my being.. destroyed by the time in which i’ve endowed in those i came to love. those whom requisitioned to love me in a way that would make forever seem reasonable..

and i find myself conflicting with people like myself, people that are looking for the same things that i myself are: soul intelligence, brilliance, killig, and a love that loves equally in return.

and when im away from him & his 'love', i feel homesick.. homesick for a place that doesnt even exist.
i sometimes question myself, i ask myself will i ever be able to experience hygge.

& sometimes i want to apologize to him.. for loving him so much, for being so passionate about caring for him in ways that he could never imagine, for trying to hold onto him when he obviously didnt want me in his life. all he wants is to be set free, but i dont think that i will ever be able to completely let go.. & i know he'll probably be happy without me & heaven knows that happy is all i want him to be. but when i love someone this much, a piece of my ego is with them.. if i let you go then you'll have to take a piece of my pneuma & quite frankly, im on my last piece. i am dying for your love & i am willing to face mortality.

Denmark

There is a charming little country
it has no sharp stones or huge mountains to obstruct the view
In our heart, we loved this little land.
They even invented the word “HYGGE.”
The reality is quite different, as it turns out to be a den of spies.
they spied on the behalf of the USA; in other Scandinavian countries they even bugged the prime minister of Germany´s phone.
In shipping it has been noticed they get the best contracts.
Quid pro quid, I think the word is.
We in Norway have been half sceptical of this sugary land
We were ruled by them for 500 years.
But they make good beer.
It will take time before we trust the sweet little land again, and
The word “Hygge” has lost its cosy sense of brotherhood.

Nauseating persiflage pontification
by aeolists with hollow minds,
it's a zugzwang situation,
so stuck among the prolix.

Panglossians in one ear
pessimists in the other,
a hiraeth longing for hygge,
yet stuck in the social mire.

Nonneutonian fluid vacuum,
imminent immersion of initiatives,
halting inundation of discerning,
heading toward a humming flat line.

Suddenly I adimpleate, with joy,
an archetypal suggestion floats in the air,
I excuse myself from the aretalogers,
and hunt the primordial source.

With legwork and inquest,
here and there on the scene,
I am defeated, misfortune,
alas, absorbed back into the quagmire.

Asthete, hygge
Minimalistic
Organized closets
Well-folded linens
Absence of junk
Alphabetical library
Jungle of houseplants
Continual purging
Flowers by the bed
Free from clutter

At dinner I am retying my shøelaces
when yøu say ønce møre
gø øn, again
is what I hear
   what the waitress hears
as she dumps
anøther blønd-haired pint
in frønt øf me with a grin that clearly states
she’s telling yøu høw tø say that phrase is she
the three-wørd term
unsayable tø øutsiders

høp step jump
øf a phrase
the language fluvial
like a lake sluicing weeds
cønsønants like dripping water
vøwels that huddle tøgether
as if the cøld is cøming in
the irregular phlegmy intønatiøn

there are candles here
whøse lives expire in silence
a glut øf armchairs
where what cøuld very well be
the wøølly Jumpers expø
før the year cøngregates
triplets øf fingers running
thrøugh their straw-bløøming chins

despite the side-track
I still døn’t knøw why
the ø’s are impaled
my møuth and tøngue
haywire as if tøssed in the wash
the demøn shibbøleth
øffered tø me
and that tablespøøn øf mucus with it
rull grull mel fluøl

the wørds dribble øut
bunch øf slushy søunds
she laughs
says I’m a løst cause øn the matter
and that I’d be better øff with hygge
which is surely the søund made
when løng yawning in the mørning

Home invasion

IKEA, the Swedish furniture giant
Is invading your home
Wherever you go homes look the same
all in pine and is a blend of office
and living room
A mother has put her daughter to bed
she sits by a computer and works
(No men in the IKEA world)
No books clutter the space, bookshelves
are for ornamental use a place for toys.
on the wall some friendly print
purposely abstract and tedious
There is no individual taste in a picture
of hygge, a unipolar world, will we drive
a Tesla next?

An August evening

This afternoon I was writing a poem but it kept disappearing
a blank screen had words on but they faded away
erased by an inner logic of self-critic.
I like red roses but when I write about them it sounds banal
and a thousand songs about roses make me feel lethargic
wasting my time; Gertrude Stein said. A rose is a rose…
I have tried to write about Tulips and think of Amsterdam
I was there often when a ******.
I prefer *** plants now; they need watering but are safe
like dinner at five.
Lily is a flower in much demand in Copenhagen, don´t why?
All I know about Denmark is “Hygge” and “frikadeller.”
I look out of the window and see a tree-lined avenue and
notice the leaves are slowly yellowing it makes me feel sad.