Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Our Little Cock-le Boat...

Close my eyes, and breathe,
I can hear the rain creeping through trees.
But the ceiling fan plays games in circles,
Mocking, as it sells slaps for dreams.

The sky drowned slowly in nothingness,
like a black hole, without deaths kiss.
Like dark, without the suction of light,
Or is that just my heart?

And I’l listen as you rustle leaves,
softly treading while I sleep.
and I wouldn’t hear you from our bed,
But I was scurrying out our door again.

I run home smelling like your perfume,
the wind blows you back into my room,
Your tongue turns as I gasp for air,
your shape that fits perfectly, that groove, right there.

But the sun brings the dawn of new hands,
And I find myself clinging to another man.
Who will sense my spirit as it writhes, as it glides,
leave my hands with a smile, I can’t deny.

And I board his plane to zenith, hit nadir instead,
“I’m busy, I’l fuck you, next  time”, he said.
And I’l juggle two halves, not willing to choose,
I’d rather rape ego, than ask, for either of you.

So night returns me to our window, with my lips sealed,
lost in the loneliness of the bats screams,
and we run around and have sex in this bush for hours,
wanting each other, cause it can’t be ours.