oh the less I know the better

pink glass bulbs and you are still in clear relief

nothing dents you, nothing scrapes you, you imbibe my thoughts and it gives your cheeks a lustrous pallor

that face, so close to me; those worlds, temporary opened

a thing, unbroken, for how much longer?

(lately all I want to do is embrace you until you fall asleep against my chest)

should I bother with matching socks or

artifact,

sun catcher, moist lipped, wet corners of the mouth

upturned corners of the mouth

fact,

soft, heavy, a loop around my finger deep embedded

tug, tug

save

it drips and it drips

into the pavement, happy wet rivulets

less of me, and less of you

in my eye

pitchfork gag

upward; your name and my eyes train toward the stars – whole and wholly gone I can no more trace your trajectory than I can discern the daily patterns of the dead –

yet my darling, you live. i think you live. i pray you live. i know the facticity of where your feet have been, what your hands have touched, what your lips have curved upon – don’t try Marlboro Red’s, they have additives, and i hope you don’t come back with ashes under your tongue, my sweet –

but what of it? tell me, you can’t tell me, i don’t deserve to know the landscape which your inner-self surveys; i can’t catch the gleam of projected plans, contracted fears, fractured emotions in its unblinking eyes – do you blink, and savor the darkness? do you, love? what is there for you in the darkness but rest, the rest you awaken in the day

talk to me; share with me a token from your native land – a talisman, piecemeal, bargain price, factory-made, for i swear to you, i have never seen it or anything of its sort

old playlist

nostalgia a sickness; fungal

leeching; painting the air with moisture

in fanciful shapes; my own veins sag

atrophy and I see a sign;

I will be able to return

mounted in sweet iridescent stars;

familiar curvature;

succulence no longer tasted

power nap

dear clarity you have ceased to roar,

your lips quake and a moan escapes you –

how long have you labored under sympathetic whimsy, making yourself sick

hush now, there is but an eternal drawing out and watching dissipate

cleaner innards, limp hands

dirty tricks

the moon was frosted over when I forgot;

it wasn’t the setting I would have chosen,

fingers ached to tear down the projections of fancy and will that sprung from behind my eyes and became entangled around you, like a web

small room

I didn’t ask,

I played with a string, calling it a wire, saying I would stop up my mouth with it,

(weaving blistering ribbons)

and never taste from the waters again.

my eyes have so many layers;

so many I would shed,

boxed and mounted like dead creatures

they were,

surely,

alive.

a single blow and the cavern is ignited;

and I, longing for nothing but shade;

the source of the light?

she had gone behind the curtain

cloying fingers built;

mulled lilac worries pinned gently with bows

small breath; anxious angles of the mouth

captured, recaptured, recaptured again

twenty-twenty field of view

unfolding wider wilder;

and then a concession.

temper the seams

a passive crusade

fuchsia

chewed

 

good music

tender grind mincing speckled skies into sap; thick tongue changing visions into delicacies;

the intimacy is in swallowing; the transportation is in containing; fly free, intangible darkness – soar and moan and sing;

you, too, will be rendered a thing of luxury