We both draw lines, dear,

and not with my rapidograph.

We have come to the conclusion

that you draw your lines

at the same time

I draw mine.

You draw your lines

in brilliant white.

I draw mine,

red as rubies.

In brilliant white

there is an appetite for destruction.

In red, the red of rubies,

there is utter mental clarity.

Destruction is drawn in lines.

Lines across albums.

Clarity, too, is drawn in lines.

Lines across hips.

Lines across albums?

Sure, I've touched powder.

Lines across hips?

Sure, you've touched blades.

Powder,

we have come to the conclusion,

is better drawn with blades,

just like I draw mine.

Dear Richard-
not gun-metal grey,

I can see you when I push the curtains away from my window.
You are not flashing me my favorite metal smile, as you lift
a Marlboro, menthol, to your lips. The wrinkles above your eyes
tell me of your concern. There is a dead hummingbird
in your right hand. I can tell from here that its neck is broken.
Its beak is twisted toward your stomach, though its body is not.
It must have been through more, perhaps a stray cat,
because I see the blood that is running down over your wrist
and dripping onto my stoop, to mix with the ashes you've dropped
and the glass and metal scraps from the car that was going too fast
and drove straight into the front of my house.


Suddenly, the grey clears from the sky and the snow
becomes blinding. The sun is assaulting the ice as
I realize it is far better to say things outright.
So I will tell you that I am lying,
and that all I really see is snow.


Love (and it is true),
your pretty song

fodder

FODDERRRRRR

For a moment we are lost
among the shadows of yesterday,
and the hours and seconds past
shimmer forth in memory form.

I have been used to your skin
and my fingers tremble with
anticipation.

Time does not exist here.
The moment between
when you nuzzle my cheek
and when we are suddenly
much closer than I remember
is endless.

Dizzy, since all I am
breathing is you.

And then I can hear it,
the old fashioned silver alarm clock
and the heavy ticking it projects.

Time begins again
and you crash your lips to mine
and I can't help but remember
that you did leave me once,

but not before you touched
the patches of skin
that are tingling now,
knowing and wanting
the feel of your fingertips.
-----------------


Patches of skin
in certain and
specific places
remember the
graze of your fingertips.

The top lip
knows the feeling
of the middle
of your mouth.

The bottom lip
knows the velvet
path of your tongue.



-------------------

Hungry fingers reach, following the natural line that outlines my hip and leads to something more interesting. Velvet lips distract the mind so as not to alarm when nervous attempts are made. "No," she mumbles to fingers that play to close to lines drawn in moments where clarity is lost. Just lose her in your lips.

-----------------

I lost myself in the contours of your chest. You claimed my breath as your own. Patience, immeasurable, measured to recieve reward. It's ok, I'll wait. You've taught me how. Reinforcement is key.

I miss the way you taste.

You always leave so early.


The songs are slow, like the breath you lay across my cheek. The blankets are barely touching us, like fingertips tented and tracing your musculature. The light is soft, like the tiny kiss you introduce to my top lip. This is what it's like to be in a car accident. Shattering glass and metal twisted is sometimes called art. I can see the ice coming, but opening my mouth and swallowing your tongue allows for no warning. So we skid. We spin. We lose control. And we crash.

Musings (at sbux, shoot me)

him: what did you say?

me:
I asked her if I was the only one who spoke to her,
mind you I was whispering,
and then I told her that astronomy
and religion are useless,
because all I want to do is
preserve the mystery of the
world. I told her I didn't believe
that she was just a rock.

him: 'kay, you're right. Well, you're always attractive.
But still. Very attractive moment.

me:
Thank you. With three U's.
It felt good, for some reason,
like I suddenly had faith
in something.

(I need to make this a legitimate poem. mkthxbye.)