cccxii. tasty

in a poem about you, i will not say time was small, i will say instead–your eyes changed seasons.

cccxi. my hands, your face

i remember dragging my hands down your flushed cheek and then down to your chin, smoothing your sharp features with my hands. i felt every ridge, every pore, and contour that your face had to offer, molding your image into my brain.

cccx. i am

the late night keeper of exiled words.

cccix. shy/asshole confusion

something in which has occurred a lot to me in my life. i’d prefer to be known as the latter anyway. if i keep saying i’m evil, one day, someone will believe me.

cccviii. double cream

if you can’t give me fire, then you don’t have what i need. when you touch my naked body, i want the gold in your teeth to melt.

cccvii. supernovas and magnitudes of glitter

the stars ejaculate silver. in response, the moon flares and masturbates.

cccvi. i pause here unknowing

it is difficult to color glue-sniffing, zombie kids. street children have no kaleidoscopes. they are not wildflowers.

cccv. living dead

this is a story about coming down hard, and expecting too much, talking too much, and having too much faith. being too willing to give it all away.

ccciv. beauty lies in simplicity

i lie spent on some stranger’s naked back, the village idiot fingering god.

ccciii. dd

you wear more than one heart on your sleeve, and believes in everything. you are, by far, the most delicate creature i have ever seen.