the words drooled like congealed semen gummed against wax paper
this wasn’t how my love was supposed to summon the depth of me
but my reaches have been called
as though my vertebras lie along a stiff axis
“Don’t do me this way”, the bullhorn of Tragic imagination projects itself upon the possibilities of the world
like a 4 year old with paste and construction paper in grainy shades of dull primaries….
i begin to cut-out the maybes and howabouts… I want it to be something real and lasting
but i know its not fair to constrain lifes possibilities with my limited understanding of the infinite….
it takes trust i know…
besides, i’ve given up the keys to my life a while ago…
… its just...
…its just…
his mouth is so sweet, and his heart is as pure as light
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