Shilly-Shally

Her forearms, half extended,
lying again.
Blatant indifference creaked
through her thighs to her tendon
toes. Pointed.

Weak.

Think in sevens.
Clearly, levels intact.
7:
Thou Shall Pass
(the salt).
Dropping anchors,
our eyes met
through the
memory shelves
collective disarray
of lost plurals.
Weak.

Elegance

(Read into this:

synonym.)


Blazes from bridges.
Oh, burn baby burn.
Hope this is
more than just sacrilegious.
Breathing fumes
full gasps; gulping
bitter soot
never tasted so sweet.
A send off not worth
shit.
Where the fuck is north?
Glad we can finally agree.
Unsettled scores
out of the peripheral.
Who cares?

Shun

Pathways like lines,
ours yet to intersect.
A question.
Oh it seems our
parallel conclusions
exclude any inclusion
of future participle
provisions.
Cut short.

Stainless

Frames like, drifting,
barely brushing outlines.
Tunnel, maybe bridge.
Regardless,
past tense trusts.
Hold taut.

Mark It Up

Sliding up my sleeves, but
no avail when knee deep
in practicality.
Sinking my teeth into
hips and
critical arbitrary contradictions.
Oh, she already knows.
< myself >
I’m just weak; I’m ready.
Succumb to any and every escape:
need-based offender.
< /myself >
Oh, but the categories
fit so perfectly.
I played my part to the:
The Vile Little Monster,
little violin in hand.
< important >
Shoulder shrugs.
< /important >

cockney thug

cotton mouth words spilling
cotton ball verbs and she
tastes like consistency:
pulls me like her wagon shadow.
and i’ll bare in mind
gum line lies
but this time i swear,
i’m dragging my feet.
deceiver deceiver!

Coquette

I’ve spun.
Sat through storms
and treachered all weathers,
but whirlwinds in my head?
Gusting gales have my sight all fuzzy;
but make no mistake, I’ve my sights set steady.
Though flustered is this courage mustered.
Head set sails to cloud high inclinations
and each indication set,
met perfectly by distinct anticipation.
But this damned preoccupation,
atmospheric hesitations.
She gives me butterflies
from here to the end of any sky.

Sodapop

Something like anatomy,
leaves me strung up
heels over head and
blood rushes down
to think thinks
and I’m doing all this for me.
How did my knees get so weak?
Trial and failure turned
drunken and valor.
She’s rattling my ribs and
my heart just won’t quit.
I think curiosity got it
best of all;
pilfering every breath
I could even dream.
My Little Miss Curtis,
just believe me.
I think in reds and blues and
multiples of two and
I don’t know what it means.
But it’s always you.

Dionysus

Damage control.
Amidst power struggle
tug of war deliberations
Artemis and Ares
are picking sides and
drawing lines and
it doesn’t look like
Eros will be hard to heed.
Oh, those Zorbas
and their dramatics;
waging wars over
beyond bronzed comestibles.