Dry writ for here

Sitting thinking-Of you, about you. 

Wanting you, all of you. 

Impatience with myself. Airhead that I am. 

I got a job today. 

The future looks bright.

Sunshine and work. 

Three days on.

Money, people, friends.

Time and trading.

All dribble. 

A drop 

Followed by a drip.

That I am. 

Always running, 

Trying too hard.

Wanting something real

And only blooming as something really,

Really unpleasant.

Your warm, smooth weirdness. In the morning comfort. 

Pressed between my arms, between the sheets. Uncrusted, listed, lusted love.

Holding off,

And holding on- 

Hearts in twine

Nothing going wrong. And we click.

Fingers, tongues: at one another. Beautiful pink flowers, folded to reveal the deadwoods and thin veneer of reality transposed upon something else. True detail in an image escapes me as I go blank. 

Staring into the light of your face. Seeing the space between your eyes. The smile revealing your way and the ghost of death that fades in and out. I catch it just, sometimes. A fleeting worry in the back of my mind. I see your skeleton. Not unlike those of the carnival, but your blue eyes, jar me. My desires fold like the leaf. Details shown, a mingled passage of time. Trusting me. Respecting me.

You know how to turn me: on on on. More, please. Wanting loving. And the sweat speaks, and frantic rubbing. Possessed absence in one another. Arms burning, backs frigid. Pouring down. Knees hot, more more more-please. 

Oh my god..

Liking lends loving, leading lives like lush lunatics, limply loosening lapels, labelling liquid lost, lisping lurching lilting lithe lollies. Lupin lesbian, lassoed lassie, leg-less liable lymph licking lady. Mmmmm.

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