"kiteness" poems
I do not know
what this cloud
is made of.
Mind-made aerosols? Speech-bubble nonsense? Filthy-dust particles?
Who gives a ****
This cloud is
a flying kite.
The shape
the size
I cut
to fit
my
s
i
g
h.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
We were good.
While you were ****** and I was intoxicated.
I saw you through a Rosé tinted wine glass and felt your eyes caress me through the
Constant,
Concupiscent
THC haze.
We were junkies.
Sybarites on substances,
Addicted to lingered kisses.
****** on lust, wrapped golden.
Eye to eye and skin on skin.
Our altered minds in synchronicity.
Our bodies
pulsing
pulsing
pulsing
To instinct's beat, the almost thereness.
The best bit was always the almost thereness
while high as a kiteness because
After there,
Comes
Here and nowness
And
my mouth is dry
And your lips are tight
And you won’t speak to me.
So I try to ask you if...
But you shut your eyes so you don’t hear me and I know the answer.
You make me hate myself almost as much as you hate me so I know you’ll never love me.
But.
Your lips part in the coldest lie as we lie cold and lonely,
In the shared bed.
Sober and resentful.
La petite mort melancholic.
Me? Do I hate you too?
No!
I just don’t like you any more.
I’m not sure that I ever did.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC