Saturday, December 6, 2014

Too Fast Blink It's Over

God you've got hot breath you
are a tiny painting kinda girl in
stupid little boots but I buy you
drinks and hope to hope that our conversation isn't
the worst and that I won't hate myself for
fucking you deeper than anyone else for
a little while
Broccoli salad the next day does not work to
balance the scales and neither does reading one
hundred pages of my book there's no
penance for it no punishment because it
was a punishment itself

Coming is too fast

Real Life Fresh Cut Flowers

Perhaps it's the getting that is like
telling me a hot note and so tell me
the quickening in your thighs is the
only heat you feel for tea and
conversation about books or some
new poem you found in some
third floor bookstore book that
smelled like must and mites and old
wood and sliding ladder grease and there
was surely some elbow patch yellow
patchouli gradschool cock treading water
nearby trying not to grab himself right
there in the narrow aisles between the shelves
between the shelves
between the shelves between the
sheets I've come so many lives and
so many days to know the real
story about you in real
life don't
ruin it now