fucking
being naked. porn, tits, ass. what’s the time? 1960?
the 2 years that just ran past pickpocketed me of youthly haziness. laying naked next to some skinbag of bones with a slippery grin blossumed an exhilarating, blood-squealing insolence. hallways are coming into focus, let’s fuck. ladies pout and whimper, glazing their eyes and curving their frame. sucking power from the very particles that mould your naked straddling blood bag.
so fine a line between power and shame,
tieing your soul to the pole for the night, pouring sex into a hole that yearns for else. breathing that goes from exertion to inner ache, the road you tumble down in the morning, clothed but stripped. soul whispers past you, around you, through your dark eyes and the cracks of your cold old dry feet into your bloodstream, settling somewhere between elbow and wrist (left side). early dawn, soft streets, yawning roads, the trees roll over in their beds. thoughts are droopy, lopsided. the clack of your heels are synchonised with your heart-thuds.
a cat darts under a car
you stitch yourself back up
