she spoke of nothing worth mentioning. she'd say. lips held tight- she's too tense for a whisper.
I'm convulsing. my fingers playing broken.ly to sing sour notes. I fall asleep like tidal waves and she screams like sea salt. sand base. her castle is in my pen. so I like to forge miracles. for her sins.
and she speaks pitch black ballet. my eyes adjusting to her lack of luster in the sun. while her beatbox.heart takes tips in the form of. falling apart in front of me.
when words fall from finger.tips they spell out- her. it's always [her]: in broken fragments. trying to piece together remnants of world- lived behind eyelids while the world sleeps.
to speak of her.
the way only dreams can. when ink and paper can't scream emptiness of my chest when I wake up alone. and understand that she may be nothing more than the bits and pieces of everything I could ever want.
so I sleep each night; hoping to catch a glimpse of something real. in between the movements...
the way you lay across my chest. when you sweat my fingers drip up your legs. leaving lines like highways tracing the trips that my tongue will take. while you ache. body tense- baby biting your sighs away moans-
to the way you speak, words like 'sir' and 'please'. breaking voice between flustered heartbeat. and the way your chest rises. when I push. pull. you speak stutters. like a record- breaking headboards. with passion reserved for love.
you pull- my thurst. feel this sense of beautiful...
one six two seven. i will never forget those numbers. and the meaning they held the way i walked down corridors and painted pictures in my head of the what if.s that circled around like literary tornados. or the way i sat in that room. waiting.
the way i became someone else's.
and the memories. they seem to be distant films. in foreign language. all i see are actions. body language when my fingers ran- down your back. eyes- god those eyes. when words slipped between lips/ saying so much in three words. and we...
one day, I will find the right words. and they will be simple. but simplicity never really worked for someone like me, so I say I love you- like a man loves a woman he never touches. only writes to, keeps photographs of. or, what did my arms do before they held you.
and time is steady moving. I asked how long I had you for and you said -'it'll take you eternities to get rid of me' and we both smiled at the irony. of everything. like these words. and being alone never felt right. sometimes it felt good- but it never felt right....
pounding. that's the feeling I get when bass hits temple. smoke clouds and whiskey taste like battling beats with heart-thumps. and I.
I breathe-out like guitar chords. [she] walks in and I want to put ink to paper in the form of sharps and flats- [she] makes me want to write her like a blues song. and sing with the passion of 50 years worth of heartache. while I tap my foot. to the pounding. of that feeling. when bass hits temple. and I feel her pulse through me like words I want to sing at her.
the way her lips speak sin. under watchful eye. breath.taking I try to catch it- and I can feel the fire. burn, baby. the way she melts down my fingertips. I whisper hymns. like the way these walls. should come crumbling down when her legs- they shake.
so close to heaven. the way her convulsing. makes me want to speak to her thighs in tongues. on knees- in worship of screams sent high. I swear that I can taste forbidden fruit when her hands pull hair. I swear.
I don't dream in technicolor because I like my rain to be the same grey as what seeps from me when I bleed. so at least a tiny. little. part of me. will feel like it's- somehow sent from above.
and I sleep in metaphor. scribbling my messages on bathroom stalls so that the walls will scream. my meaning and I live in voids and venues of pointless and poignant. freedom is born of black on white. as I speak graffiti-esque. like pen.stained romances. on the back of. old text books....
when we parted the skies were singing thunderstorm operas. dressed in tidal waves- my fingers twitched to the sound of her eyelids closing on my shoulder.
and I am. fixation mounted on eyeglass. testing cool water with the taste of fire tongues and cocaine eyes.
and the rain. it's pounding on my face. like pellets of sand- the glass is protruding from my shirt pocket and my heart is a few beats short of a landslide. so I break breath like past tense jesus but I'm splitting sand blowers my rib cage could use a little painting....