Creamy

she brandished boobs and

half open eyes equally

wondered about

age

she licked me

she liked looking

I called her butterscotch

and she wanted

to swallow me

Crossed legs and sweating

"I hope you get everything you wanted, boy,
hope you conquer the world 
and turn it into your toy,
but don't come crying 
when you learn the truth..."

he twisted his fist
and stretched my nipples.
his lips sharply cornered
and teeth purpled.

the hint of blood dripping,

terror and suggestions,
I feel like his breakfast.

should I be sharing this
or hiding my shame and my
ugly desires?



my breakfast is porn and
crossed legs
and sweating
and cumming alone
and ignoring women
and not eating
and thinking

this needs to end
and this
feels good
and maybe I should respond...

but I didn't.

I just did the ooohing and the aahing
because I didn't know any of the real words.

Down a little bit

young and sad
which you are not supposed to be
while still angry and awkward
like most are mostly

watching how other things fly



the broken bottle
breaks against your brittle walls

each shard spitting light


perhaps meaning
you might bleed and
find
some
fucking
release

thinking this
singing

try it again
try it again
try it again

he's got a bug in his eye

he's not weeping

without shadow

I see that wave
of her hair and
think
Winter is still there
in her eyes I
believe
we have never met
and she is the love
she is the dark drain
the spark
she echoes
across time and
an Ocean away she
writes to me
wondering what ifs and
whens
I wonder
what would I not sacrifice
for this woman
my Diana

and you make me

nice cold opening
of a clipped quirky song

an Irish backbone
informs a Northwestern sense

a little beer hall
a little polka

an accordion
that seems Southern
and Southwestern

praising the moment like a prayer
and a sudden ending

that's soulful 
sweet

with her sexy throaty voice
that feels fleshy 
electric

telling you she's a woman that wants to 
love love love you

she would like to 
tango

singing of bones

glam bounce
and 80's 
art 
pop
and one metal rimmed finish

leads to a sea shanty chorus
then strum strum 

you sing

a familiar female part
in this

girl

group

dessert
indie
pop

at the prom

pass out

belly

this fucking song 
creeps up
on me

with the Angel Of Harlem horns

the tweaked distant voice

the open chords of the twelve strings strong

the celestial slide of the trombone

the crap tinny 
one room 
sound 

at the end

the bit with the improvising horns

I'm not sure what the story of this song
is but I am sure there is one

inspired by an inspirational speaker

what percentage 
of those that work 
at inspiring 

are honest?

just a sliver.

hope as a profession

is mostly for liars

and people
waiting

to be violent.

Say it again again again

she wants to meet me knowing
that I have always fucking
loved her and she says
no expectations
because we're older
and I think
BULLSHIT
no expectations
just
gives you that
back door

that keeps me loving you
that keeps me begging you

with unspoken practices
and emotional blurring

I used to type until daylight
and then
curl up next to her

the junkyard next door
at dawn
looked like
new secrets
like
promises

after bone ridden nights
tapping keys and feeling
her
curl up
sleeping and smiling
against
me

it felt like a dirty secret
and it might be