Tag Archives: #sex

Oh, What I Would Let You Do to My Journal.

I want my words
in bed
with your rods and cones.

I’m a young gun,
but I can rhyme some sounds
and I am down to go down on
some extended metaphor.

I want you
to open wide
your eyes
and I’ll do mine
and we’ll read each other
and scream things.

I want discursivity
and your fluidity
and your phenomenology
and ontology
on top of me.

Let’s talk.

Let’s have a
about your form,
‘cause it piques me, honey bee.

Get me off
this screen.
I’d love to be
between your sheets,
wet with ink.

Let’s alliterate a lot
and let lyrics lick little
liminal spaces lightly.

Let’s write each other letters and seal them with kisses then tear off the envelopes with the hunger of younger lovers.

Let’s let go.

shoulder blades

she makes the same shapes
making love or dancing
she declares love is a muscle
you don’t actually fall
in love, you maybe
are just good at it
(or bad (too bad))
but Fear forbid you
are just (too) good at it
cause then up comes
some young stud
declaring love is one
precious little zero-sum, well
maybe if i had to wait again
to come, she said, i’d see
my love as a commodity, maybe,
but there are some things
i just don’t know, she shrugged, and
she makes the same shrug
making love or dancing

life is a gift say thank you dammit

the buffalo
the baby
the king of the jews
i worship what i kill

i can almost smell the ocean
through the bleach

and at this
i take the greatest offense:
my life’s the second
half of a sentence
uttered by a pair of parents)

don’t worry child
i said don’t fucking worry

there’s no goddess of the bonobos
who punishes the chaste
and the onanist
and the barren

you don’t have to make
babies, bison, sense
none of it

but you don’t get
to not want to