| I spent the night with
a man who reveled at his
one-bedroom apartment.
He drank like Bukowski;
a lukewarm discord
hung behind his teeth.
He took half a hit of back breaker
before getting into a bath,
tripping and sputtering his words
around the tub.
He wanted to be loud
like those lowlifes down
by the bus stop, barely lucid
while the morning was still dark.
But he slept,
sprawled out and
too utterly content
next to my trembling frame.
Sometimes we just aren’t as beautiful as we feel.
|
| |
| coffee in the microwave
your hand on my neck
a gentle, quivering outline
of some remote past
and i fall harder
every
time.
you looked at me and said you were sorry.
|
| |
| maybe someday we'll save each other again.
god, we tried so fucking hard.
|
| |
| fog on the windshield:
my lust for you
concentrated and lingering,
beading down my back
i can't get away with one dream
without you
i don't care for this careful behavior.
|
| |
|
come on, lay it down on me.
i can take it.
i traveled you far and wide
toured every scope and scaled every cleft
just to hand you over
now what? |
| |
