awwwhh, **** the ocean and how the rain smelled!
i'm not here to conjure imagery of a pre-dawn traipse across town and the oh-so profound revelations
that came just before sleep.
shadows cast at such an angle that the front lawn looked like paradise,
the pretty words spoken in low tones as if we had a secret and couldn't let the world know.

because i wake up on the floor with something sticky in my hair and one contact twisted up in my eye that makes me squint.
i'm struck still by brash remarks on my own part
and the forgotten reactions by another
(memory fails in all  the right places)
i can not look a soul in the eye and my mumbling is half-natural and three quarters shame.
and i feel it deeply.

there will be no romanticising the ache that sticks
in your head
i will not mention how i felt life,
so freely and completely in the very hours i seek here to discount.

**** the strange beauty in pain
and **** our futures
only time will drown out the rest
the least i could do is accurately encapsulate
the pure feeling of all the ways life is nothing at all
like a poem.

late-night light bus smell,
if you know it.
all things sharpened at their harshest features,
the air of reluctance is faint, but ever present.

a taste like velvet,
feels like a big ******* hole.
you'd know it if you saw it,
and likely fail to mention how deep rooted your involvement.

standing in a crowd,
i vowed i'd never make a sound.
you bit my tongue so hard i swore i'd never think again,
we played our parts so well it seemed we'd ever-want for nothing.

when you wake up from a dream, forgetful-
as the day wears on it tugs and pulls.
deepest sleep seems ever-lustful,
i knew it but i never told.