Let us tend to the festival of flesh,

the long lines that dip through

to make our angles.

The howling flash of fruit-rind lips

before we utter our language;

let us harvest the hours of each other's kiss,

keeping time by the hungry tongue.

it was a kiss about trees and dream and moon moods; a kiss about lust and gamble, of dancing nymphs and yellow-tailed lizards. the fever crept up, the body swayed and drifted into the cloud smears blotted among the deep blue above. the knees weakened, as they do, and every inch of skin grew hot with this new knowledge of you. there was no earth but ( Read more... )

i'll make a collage of you today. everything set to a clean blue backdrop, like sky but darker, dirtier, with long shadows to decorate the waxing & waning of our unlit dream. i wish i could set you to song, strum you, sing and unstring you, play out tomorrow like some child's theater, all things shaking on our unsturdy ground, match in hand, hoping ( Read more... )

i can not count ( Read more... )

there was always that simple prettiness stuck to the edging of you and i, through the embattled heartache we endured over and over again, we kept our hearts adorned with each other, like lace and rosary, always tempted, never sturdy, and yet stronger than most. we cared only for you and i, the whole of us, even when we were in pieces, me on some ( Read more... )

what is the reason for such captivity? for the long, lean space of mind that bends and retracts and breaths like the intricate spider-web lattice of a lung and hangs heavy in contemplation, in decision, in confusion, like the way clouds hover in mid-May and threaten the torn-denim shards of sky peaking through to us from below. why can't i figure ( Read more... )

in a hotel room on Lexington Avenue ( Read more... )

it doesn't matter how beautiful i might have felt before ( Read more... )

if i had heard what daddy said
i'd be a king
today.

some chords are struck and sting in the throat for years, they clamp down on the stomach and stretch inside the muscle there, are plucked and pondered and strummed into song by someone else, somehow settling in the creases along our mouths where we laugh and frown, or dusting the soft spots under the eyes where the skin is thin and strange.

(i ( Read more... )