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zeitgeistluvr

The nape of your neck is not a place of friendship

It’s funny where those lines fall, but still

The nape of your neck is an empty lot

In a neighborhood I cannot afford

One with too many coffee shops and only one church

But your hands are. Your fingers are places of friendship

In my hair between my fingers on my thigh,

Because my hairhandsthigh are places of friendship too,

What else could they be?

But places where lingering doesn’t mean anything

Are your eyes fair game? Can I think that they are beautiful?

I wonder if you know how lucky you are,

to just be able to look for as long as you want. At anything you want

Can you do that for me? Can you watch me?

I am working through the motions of something I’m not allowed to think

Because if this is a performance I can hold you

Legs folded into one another on your bed,

we are just an audience away from each others lips

Build us a context we can love in, because if someone sees us as girls and not spectacles

I don’t think my legs will work, and I cannot watch you run from me

Because your knees on the bus against mine

And the small of your back in the bathroom

And your voice when you’re falling asleep

Are all too far from friendship

Are all trespassing

And yet your lips are a place of friendship

As long as you are drunk or he is watching

And your chest is a place of friendship

When we sit in the basement and watch bad TV

So often what passes as friendship smells like cheap wine

And what doesn’t tastes like a mouthful of pennies

there was no layers left of skin to shed or any more organs to sell started thrifting all our memories sticking 'em in an untied carrier bag hoping we'd made a terrible mistake

but we played blind during the war swallowed the forbidden fruit we struck silver enigma code stays nebulous but desire conjoined indefintely

we just forgot about freedom for a sec but- liberation's in your armpits it's in our broken fridge in cold morning glories and in every day I fantasise spending with you

early february buzz never felt so transulcent it feels like my house has been robbed but they've only taken my broken watch with that engraving on the back saying; 'nothing will ever get better'

i can only beg that you'll let me massage your thighs until the next service station don't look at my tired hands they just need a dry clean but alas it's sunday again

couldn't make you out of marble nothing else like it o you're fiction, o you're stupendous i'm stuck in your mud and i'm not struggling to get out anytime soon

#poem #poetry #valentines

noirage

Gone

by Richard Vergez

atlantisinsirri

vampire-canneberge

ph. Jackson Bowley

lamignonette

cyanidemind

let her die

[Monday, January 13th, 2020. 11:05 a.m.]

tiny crystals of empathy creep inside me every so often, make me privy to guilt, to greed, to emotion. what a pity that i am possessed and not default. am i arrogant enough to fully fault myself for that, though? should i blame the dirty black snow days i played through, the absent heart, the rebuffed touch, the stiff playdough? the beautiful bray about suicide and slit wrists, television dinner vicodin, failure and failure and failure. i imagine it’s vicious to be pecked by death’s limp kiss, to be carted away in an ambulance. i promised i would be there, that i would care, that you were wanted, desired, coveted. i was unaware that it was only for your body. but built like that, is it hard to imagine why? one-track-minds are hard to dissuade, and if there were something inside you, a depth or a breath that wasn’t self-loathing, maybe there’d be some prodding, some yearning, some attempts to uncover the love you’ve been cloaking. i hate to say it, bug-eyed brunette, but you’re middle of the road. the bell curve, despite your curves, your did-up southern belle pomp. you could fade today and i’ll still be here, cold, picking at tiny scabs, dabbing blood stained bandaids, smelling the odor of onions on my palms. i stretched myself thin, tore some vital ligaments, worse some haphazard ligatures, until the effort of it all plummeted, leaving apathy my signature. the fight is in reserve tanks, saved for a few. don’t look so surprised at none set aside for you.