It’s unbecoming of a liar
to tire on the empty days
of which the truly lost
yearn to lay their heads
on the warm thighs
of a half interested
series of caresses. ——–That’s like living the dream!
But (and there’s always a but)
people like us stand on the shores
edge, tonguing teeth and tiny
bits of sand caught from
the wind carrying upwards
our inconsistent spirits –
a stench so imbued with salt
one can’t help but wonder
if the weeks before were
all a dream – wreaking havoc
on the humid normality
of everyone’s perfect day.
But lucky me,
I have the kind of thighs
that hold unconditional interest.
It was cold as fuck the first night and every other night after. With our arms linked, our knees knocked and our needs on high we stayed warm in the glistening orbs of light – the kind that manifest when you squint your eyes in a dirty city – alive but kind and wanting. The air smelled like salted seafood but Bronze Goddess lingered in my nostrils – tasted like Katy Perry lip stain and wove a trail through the open buttons on her blouse, settling on a place entwined around our fingers – passed the empty stares. Sometimes a chill, colder then the city night, would creep across our shoulders – we’d lose it – in the heat of song, sang from the corners of every street that’d long for a fame that bellowed for God’s hand before the world’s end. And that was just fine, those endless sighs caught in a time too short to appreciate but long enough to know my life would never be the same without her.
On the drive back home, the Universe came crashing down on the roof of the car – the moon grew too big and we rode too far trying to lose a race against the lamp lights that led us home – to a time lapsed before our eyes and caught in the shadow of the life we left behind. She shook it off though – left rubber on the asphalt – a kiss on my hand – a twitch between my legs. When I collapsed on the couch, greeted by tiny hands and missed ‘mamas’ it still felt like my back was curled against the comfort of her care and soft into a King-sized mattress. Against the stillness of familiarity the city built itself into my dreams where I keep us there. Where I love her always.
they spin like dizzy children on a school day
but without the reassuring chime
that ushers them into four solid, safe walls.
instead, tired, little things,
until they wake up out of bounds, beyond
the Gate and behind the waist high
brick planters filled with the colors
of a burnt-brown rainbow.
I am there too.
reaching for their sweaty hands and
picking at their pockets for the chalky
white tablets that help to medicate our
flow of Time.