1 more day 1 more crush 1 more day 1 more

My girl is a storm cloud. Heavy with the weight of all that she carries she is trembling but still she marches. Forward. She teaches me the meaning of perseverance. She teaches me that taking that quivering lead shell of anxiety around love and opening it to her is not weakness. It is trust and trust is a sword.

 

My girl is a serpent. She sees that I believe that I am snakelike- un-lovable, deceitful, un-caring. She laughs and tells me to suck my venom dry from the throats of young boys and aim to strike something bigger than them, bigger than her. She is well versed in the fight, her coils are scarred with losses and lessons.

 

My girl is 7 in the morning. She is the dizziness from getting out of bed too fast. She is fucking unbearable. She is also the pill that you need to swallow to make it through the day; she is also the shock of pink dawn; she is also the yellow door-frame halfway through the commute. You’ve never seen it before but you’d never miss it now.

Advertisements
1 more day 1 more crush 1 more day 1 more

salt

do you ever think about me, how i’m doing

 

i’m doing fine if you’re asking

if you’re asking when i’m out of breath

looking at another face i don’t care about

out of focus, deep water, salt/

salt in a fresh wound you know the ones

the ones we give to those we think we don’t need

do you remember talking about that shit

or was that too problematic/

it’s been a few years and now you’re just a glitch

my programming skips over your face every month or two

i can picture you walking toward me on the street

to fight or to fuck/

it’s so beautiful when we fight with each other

i feel like the earth is birthing another

better version of itself

one that we can all live on/

but i know you gave up on this a while ago so

here i am

looking at another face i don’t care about

out of focus, deep water, salt.

 

salt

Kyoto

The 201 bus back to the station is already full and her perfume is a punch in the face.

Cinnamon, clove, nutmeg; trapped in her rain sodden coat. It’s December and the rain has been coming into the city at 4pm every day for a week. Shrunk into the metal safety bar behind me I examine her bewildered face behind sleep deprived lids. I don’t think that I could ever look like that after a rain shower, in the bus light the droplets on her scarf turn to molten gold. Is this a crush or am I just exhausted?

She snaps her head around, plastic tortoiseshell earrings sticking to her neck haphazardly, results of the downpour.

“Have you got the time?”

Struggling

“Uhh yeah it’s half four.”

“Hey thanks.” Audibly.

“Shit,” muttering into her coat collar, turning away. I want so badly to be drunk on a liquor that smells like her perfume.

A metallic voice from the front of the bus indicates the next stop. She steps off gingerly into the street.

As we pull away I get hungry. I wish that I had stolen her coat.

She stands like a maple tree bent by a northwest wind, steadily dripping gold into the city drains.

Kyoto

projecting

I wanna be in love with someone whose heart is on fire.

 

I wanna be in love with someone who has been cracked open, spilt out, bright yellow yolk, running into the cracks of an infinity tunnel. Hammer to stone, fingernails to cement, breaking through into an overcast day, casting a stubborn shadow.

 

I wanna be in love with someone who has had to hold the fragments of their absolute idol. Grinning and bearing it as the shards pierce flesh, knowing that this is their burden to bear because there is nobody else. Someone who has wanted to be held but has had to hold.

 

I wanna be in love with someone who has danced with self destruction and spat in its face. Has had to sweat until most of the grime has gone, can recognise a smile from years ago of the most weathered of faces, endless and boundless and emotional and fucking aware.

 

I wanna be in love with someone who sees blood on the pavement and mourns and then fights. Hope is not just sunshine hitting your cheek on a December morning or the sweet scent of turning away, hope is shaking voices rising together or not counting on someone else to do it or making love when you know that the world is going to end.

 

I wanna be in love with someone who has seen that the modern projection of love that we run through our heads on rusted film reels is causing us all to rot from within, heavy bodies soaked in expectation, but I wanna be in love with someone who tries

regardless.

projecting

Give me all your love; No love to give

I want to chase perfection until my mind has been left behind and my body is folded over on itself, rivulets of my own skin.

I will stand by the sea and try to take that colour blue hostage, lock it in my pupils

So that when you look at me you’ll see nothing but ocean floor and you’ll fall deep.

I will gaze at the sun on an overcast day and its feeble warmth will seep into my pores,

Next time that we meet I will grasp your hand and you will feel like a beloved friend is embracing you so openly you think you might cry.

I might even tell you that I love you,

You will moan low until the forest shadow dips down to meet the city

It will be the greatest lie the trees have ever seen.

Give me all your love; No love to give