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Showing posts from November, 2015

Salted Caramel Macaroons. To Go Containers.

Inside a sweeping cursive.That is where I am. That is where I will go, boozy and numb.The dark and expansive red, trying to make itself mean something.I ride its loop.I am a fucking surfer.My hang ten. My cutback. My big dick scraping that board, chafing. Poor dick tip all red and sore.Put your tongue to it. Little lappings. “Poor baby. Make it all better.” Use those words.Mean them. Lap some more.
I cup my hand around you.A baby bird.I graze your cheeks with my thumb.“Why do you love me, baby bird? Why do you love me—a carcass?”
It’s in a blanket fort, except circus tent sized, except smaller, except more cave-like, except not dank, except soft, except light filtering through, except hidden, except lukewarm but trying to reach 75 degrees, except more quite except for small talk except for breathing, except for the sound hands on skin make, except in the forest, except no animals, except no wind, except its own growing entity, except nervous but not confident, except in a way it want…