(terrified
by the silence of infinite spaces – pascal)
subtle
charms
in
her arms
the
scales of my skin
pressed
against
her silken flesh
her
breasts
weren’t
an accident of evolution
only
a god could divine
however
fleeting
this
moment is
the
fulfillment of all need
ecstasy
erasing
how long it has been
since
my skin
has
been inside a woman
even
the banishment to her balcony
to
mix my breath with after sex cigarette
cannot
extinguish the glow
brighter
then the tip of my smoke
but
i can’t help equate the ashes
with
the words i will try to find
when
i realign by her side
i
do not know her
ever
as i flowed into her
we
were strangers
like
the ad you are forced to skip
because
you don’t have a subscription
to
hear the song commercial free
not
because you can’t afford it
but
because you don’t want to be bothered
with
signing up and having to make monthly payments
i
look at the pavement below
and
know i will be on it
tonight
or at first light
somewhere
there’s a bottle i haven’t paid for
yet
and
outside is the designated smoking area
for
l.a. cigarettes
for
though i’ve tried to touch the sky
i
cultivate lies
with
nothing to say
on
these dark streets of decay
i
take my naked
back
to her form
beneath
unfolded sheets
experience
momentary defeat
as
she slips her arm around my neck
forcing
me into the chains of her lips
i
make the sheet slip
off
her fragileness
while
my manhood unfurls to full mast
mocking
the pretense of my strength
exposing
me as the weaker sex
i
caress until nothing remains untouched
sex
is double dutch
when
done right
we
both pay our fair share
the
part of my brain that cares
is
numbed by the drug
that
paralyzes me
in
the center of her web
and
this time there’s no instead
no
balcony or cigarette
i
just spoon within the cocoon
that
envelopes me into the oneness
of
a single being in a queen sized bed
i
fumble to grasp something
that
will unclasp
and
recite in the last vestiges of my mind
lyrics
by david bryne
“years
ago
i
was an angry young man
and
i’d pretend that i was a billboard
standing
tall by the side of the road
i
fell in love with the beautiful highway”
but
my mind is now out of breath
and
needs mouth to mouth before i die
all
she does is sigh
and
i skip the double summersault
as
i dive in
again
my
skin saturated
by
what surrounds
will
i write of unrequited love
the
feather plucked
from
the wings of a dove
when
sunlight illuminates the fear
that
can hide in the darkness
because
no shadows are cast
or
will we devour each other for breakfast
will
any part of me lair
beyond
this linger
i
can never put a finger
on
what is wrong
which
is why i put my
finger
on everything
and
sing
“has
anyone ever written anything for you?”
by
stevie nicks
no
one has for me
but
here i am writing for her
and
the struggle i juggle
the
me i can’t help but be
and
the me you need me to be
a
decree i cannot make cannon
because
the fanon
worn
by the pope at mass
is
not my leaves of grass
as
i sing of the open road
you
are the princess and i am the toad
and
your kiss will leave you remiss
because
i am not a fairy tale prince
and
you will only be stuck with a reptile
forked
tongue and vile
who
will not be dissatisfied with you
but
with your dissatisfaction with me
because
after all the issue isn’t you
every
man at the bar promised to be true
to
know what i have known tonight
but
there are no departure flights
from
my landing strip
i
am only equipped to conceive
there
is no way we are suppose to be
no
reality
no
absolutes, no truth
just
wishful thinking
a
perceive, answers that can only be relative
and
yet i give it another try
illicit
another sigh
no
longer understand
why
you could never love me
but
perceive a diction filled with conviction
that
has forgotten the existential café
filled
with parisian 1933 apricots
and
can hold you without feeling
i
must first be flayed and sautéed
seasoned
to taste
savored
slow
until
you realize there is nothing left
but
dirty dishes
should
have gone out to eat
like
you did tonight
i
am great with the momentary delights
but
soon you will see i am the only one
with
no long term concerns
because
beyond the immediate bombardment
of
my senses
nothing
exists
not
tomorrow’s hangover
consequence
is a perception
thoughts
give birth to deception
and
as your mouth replaces your hand
upon
my engorged
i
surrender the stupidity of searching
to
those who get paid
to
tell you what to think
***
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