rather drunk, rather sad. Here are some disjointed bits of stuff.
I’ve tickled it into his naked back,
When he’s fucking me it spools around my tongue,
I devote myself with every playful smack –
And harder still when certain smacks have stung.
History repeats on us,
One life holding the gown
Of the next,
Waiting for its turn;
Just look at how the future greets us,
With a capful of
I want to be of use to you,
But my memories
Are not admired by most –
They involve love and only love,
Or desire described as love
In the sky of a castle
with a hatful of flowers boasting ‘now’.
Get me my old school photograph
And I’ll point out every boy that
I ever kissed
Or even just dreamed of kissing.
Him? Linguistic brilliance,
Chewed the skin either side
Of his fingernails, red
Raw they were.
And him? A map of acne
On his back, felt like
And him? Such
Like milk allergies.
I take photos of every beautiful thing
I’ve ever seen.
The devil is in the details,
And God is in them too.