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Fuckboy
My friend loved just breathing in the bathhouse
with long meandering weave of thoughts while a lonely man moaned lost into the linoleum. I bought him earrings made of black lava stone. One of my first Christmas gifts and that was not until I was 33. Small penises are such tender thumbs. He wouldn't kiss me in the bar we were regulars at and he's the gay one. I've given up believing there is order to the world. We both want black women and kids I experiment because that's what exploring black men are. An experiment in how can a self-interest release in the degrees between your mouth and a gun. He loves black men. I leaning over him in Texas watching the build of his joy. The only name I have is experiment. And I just want everyone to come, not by me necessarily but at least I want to know about it. That everyone ruptures someday build of the disappearing this harsh view of a world. Sunday light Unconscious. Toothy smile. Never Talk About Your Pain or X The wall around my face is made of gorilla glass 4, west philly and walnut crown molding. I had a detached retina installed in the west wing when I was depressed. I am gloriously broken and soprano honest chaos all my songs. None of them are yours but I love the tilt of your head when they spring a picture of a play doe smashed clumsily on to the Sunday funny pages. You are the gloriously asymmetric. A stubborn weed broad treed unkept and animal. I am not a fan of landscaping. I like armpit hair. I always show up undressed. My chest is full and blushed every sentence. I am the smallest possible dense, the ant, man and the dirt is where my riches lay. I want to be rich and mulched into your childhood redwood base a millisecond of your tears angle. A tear in space time is a small glitch where our lips lie and the lies are not small enough if you have to half it half it in half and half of my rib and a half my things and half my brain is yours but never the sky. |
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