the evanescent thump of you
pervading in my inappropriate parts–
to the second gender that smells as sweet,
to the separate lender who I never keep,
sweep my wave again,
pulse my crave my friend
because there are where the words lie;
because this is why I cannot cry.
caught in the mind of me,
all in the thought of three.
Courtesy of shootingfilm.net
I was so ready to stop being so god damn innocent.
I like when you’re pretty;
when your shirt dips a little lower than it should.
I like when you move, and your whole body goes with you.
I layer, and my mind goes with me:
lips, skin, arm, head;
look at you. You’re a
painting, picture, perfect.
My porcelain doll
(don’t look- she might break).
I’ll look all the more:
break for me baby,
break for me,
Courtesy of fanpop.com
Quite the month of shit and giggles
Sex and crying (the other way around though chronologically)
And you. No other real hearts this time.
January. And I think you were kind of pretty
The snow fell hard on you and every morning we got scared of its beauty.
But I like the two hours to sleep in so I’d say “be scared” and then you’d run away
And I started running a little bit to you. Again. And..—
Again and. And—
Again and again and again…
Again(and) again!(and) AGAIN!
Snow bites. All packed and ready to throw.
Snidpits. We share one color and then I go.
Buttons. “I had too many, you had three”
Slush boots. I walked them over, just for me.
All different people but one is me. January safe in a word, a line, a person; what’s more is still me.