There is a motion of lint under the imprint of your disguise.
It seems like thought and control is beyond clockwise.
Let me flow down like a river.
Beneath the rocks and sunken boats.
Let me flow down softly against the region of your body.
Let my lips kiss every pore on the landscape of your skin.
There is a colorless image, underground and rare.
Her smile, slightly beyond despair.
In your deepest pond, I drown in feathers.
Sometimes I can’t say the words I want to say.
Instead I’ll paint the sky blue.
And give you the sun.
In the fabric of sun rays that shines deep in the basement of my soul.
There is a clutter of words I often trip on.
But I don’t think you mind at all.
I’m just a writer after all.
When all the love I have sinks deep into the discoloration of sunsets.
The desolate of poetry dresses in a fabric of black wool.
Let’s burn, burn our hands from the scrutiny of warmth.
Am I falling or floating?
Or maybe I am just a rock you can pick up with one arm.
I can already sink my teeth in steel.
Like the softest wings I can easily tear apart.
This is the part I like most.
When the blanket scorns the flesh of wounds.
and all the pretty noises sink out of holes of my soul.
Talk about fade, like dust in a place without feeling.
A feeling like dirty water at the bottom of your throat.
I’d do it better with ink.
Write nothing, but it still comes out like a national bestseller.
Recklessly floating in the arms of a feather.
You got me stained like a Jesus face on your shirt.
We left this crucible urge back in the woods of ink roots.
All you ever wanted to do was paint the sky red.
A place where gaze interaction fades in,
But your on/off switch is broken again.
Please excuse me, but I often explode with a bit of disposition.
You’re nothing like a spelling error that makes me want to write a how-to book about doing nothing.
Deeper than the mechanism of notes by D.H Lawrence.
Let me swim in the dirtiest river fully clothed,
come out clean in the most dangerous way.
A very close space to me sounds intellectually insane,
but in the most utopia way,
I’m sinking deeper into the naked and the stained.
I’m only bleeding from the side.
But let me whisper in your ear and say, “Darling, we all bleed sometime”
I want to dig the crust of heaven out from your eyes.
So I can kiss the dirt under the womb of our children.
This is too much, so deep that I’m crawling out of a mud hole.
Oh do you mean the catalyst is just a shade under the veins of this rotting sun?
I have disorder that is painted like Easter eggs.
( ….and I dress in black)
This is insane, but I don’t want to be the boiling water in your pot.
I have sins.
I have better sins than you.
And I don’t even know why.
It seems the strangest thing to say right now,
but this cat hair in my mouth is the weirdest dream so far.
I can swallow my own tongue, and speak a different language you can’t understand.