Be Cool Unto Me

This thoughtlessness envelops me when I am with you and I can't help but think of it as... It's reckless and fast and fleeting and absolutely perfect. I spent a while trying to figure out it's mechanics. I've made up useless math to add and subtract the immense feelings I have, but there is no logic to my… It is irrational and toxic but entirely beautiful. We manage to create and destroy each other every time, without fail, and as much as I need to be comforted I want to be seduced and dismantled. Love's blade has decided to fall across me and I am in no way fearless as I am triumph against its coolness.

Be cool unto me, so that I in return can make you hot.

Hot Licorice Pieces

His lips changed into a deep red and flushed with heat and while I kissed him I couldn't help but think of hot licorice pieces. I wanted to keep him at the tip of my tongue for as long as I could, I liked the way we seemed almost attached with our faces so close. We created our own kind of heartbeat with movements and touching and synced breathing as if we were one human unit. I liked his hot whisper on my skin, the wetness writing a scripture on my hips, the climax heightening towards the final word. My body silently begging for more and him responding as if we had in fact practiced this dance. There was a certain kind of serenity that formed in the act of shedding our clothes and morphing. I liked the nakedness and now it's not the same and the licorice pieces have all gone cold and I am waiting for you to come home and write another chapter under our sheets.

Half in the Bag, Aerial View

the aerial view of my bedroom shows the stack of books beside my bed that i am meaning to read. there is a pile of clothes on the floor, close enough to the hamper and close enough to the closet that from this angle you won't be able to make out if they are clean or dirty. i often wish this was a pile of your clothes instead of mine. my desk, cluttered with paper and pencils, is a canvas of it's own accord. it draws you in like a game of 'I Spy' and you'll try to make out the names of the crayons, if you squint you might make out the 'blue-green'. My sheets from up here look as if there is a current to them, as if a rushing of slumber and passion engulfed the shore, lapping up close to the pillow cases. an oasis of thought and sleep, a half in the bag day dream of all that makes me.

Building's Heaving Guts

the building slightly heaves with all of the people living inside of it's belly. the walls absorb the chaos of those who fight and those who love inside of it. the creaking of the beds signal both passion and aggression and the muffled sighs are always left open ended. the walls stretch their ears in the night for a glimpse of nightmare. the building shelters people from the weather and each other. people stay put, waiting for things to settle. dust flakes from the interior of the structure and falls into glasses of water, on to tops of heads, and into boots left discarded by locked doors. the building is full, feeling queasy. the people rush to and fro, eagerly trying to escape all the while coming back. the building heaves with all of it's residents inside it's guts.