촉감
i'm out of
touch : backhand
blueberry stains
Tastes Like Heaven -
littered across my
skin.
tickles Spine Ache,
You've Trusted Too Far.
WARNING:
not-a-psychic:
8ball tarot card hints
scuffle over a
dull inner
monologue
(it's all you
have left
and
better this way).
. . .
soft touch down
feather light
thick frames,,
The Sight at your
bedside table.
who wants to sleep while
the world is clear
anyways?
WEATHER WATCH:
dry-lipped:
you wonder if this is
frostbite(?)
Bedridden Unsick Smile
Crooked Teeth
Coffee Carpet -
don't mind
and it'll turn
into a
love poem.
insert cliche flashback here ---
a year's worth of college essays
on the beautiful lack of romantic
attraction and how you never really
felt much At All.
DISEMBODIED BOY
caress cold skin loud speaker bold against
you/me swearing this is . . . intimacy
keeps BACK STEPPING ,
LIMBS SHUDDERING
hands to himself
(don't give him
yours too).
Cold Sweat, No Wet Dream.
salt circle demons tracing
pale sloped wrists
almost too
lovingly,,,
I DON'T MISS YOU.
unborn / star-crossed
awake / and out of
fever / touch.
. . .
[ a/n - this is meant to be read aloud. i also have a different version of it that i made into a song on my ukulele. i'd like to hear some interpretations since this is a pretty weird poem. ]
