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Literature Text
I won't paint
drifting a murmur of a word
into the object space
but here,
beneath the shadow of the palm,
I stare at patterns in fronds.
I hear Pacific whispers
and remember a salted wind, an easy hum
of an uneasy engine
and yes
drifting a murmur of a word
into the object space
but here,
beneath the shadow of the palm,
I stare at patterns in fronds.
I hear Pacific whispers
and remember a salted wind, an easy hum
of an uneasy engine
and yes
Literature
consecrate
authenticity an arsenic
in morning coffee, in the smiles
pressed like ironed laundry,
because I feel like one wrong breath,
one wrong kiss between glossed lips and soft jaws
and I will be nailed to a cross
deception a shame rising like steam,
where teeth grind against each other
like clockwork gears, tick tick ticking
while the tongue kisses the roof of its cathedral
like a prayer to gods yet to be named
because her face is a mosaic window
shining the sin out of love
Literature
Split
Run nails down my
arm; I won't let you under
my skin anymore
Literature
Reykjavik For Lezayre
so slip, i stumble. fumble with the
doorknob and your key falls with me
im falling into - there you are
i see you in
these ports and the sea foam shades
of the fog that parts at dawn the day
before i find myself - here you are
i want to be left alone but -
it was the taste, salty and too sweet
it was too much and my tongue
is not appeasing or the tricks
that tease -
come close. still this one last time
there’s something underneath your
skin steady i want
inside
you - to see, how i memorize you
in every gasp that splits the air around
us and when you cum - crashing
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thank you
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Comments15
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I felt a strange physical tug at "salted wind", like a memory tied to some lost childhood time.