kiss kiss kiss

You are slipping through my thoughts, dripping off my actions. And I want to sink my fingers beneath you, deep into you, and strum music with your tendons; the bass rippling across your skin. I’ll hum my kisses until your mouth is swollen and rock you to the beat of my obsession.

A Song, A Fairytale.

he wants me to write. he wants me to sing. he wants me to write but i can't write a thing. without thinking, without stuttering, without idling wishing for you. like dreaming, not singing, hard to grasp and even harder to do.
he wants me to write. he wants me to sing, he wants me to write, but i can't write a thing. as if haunted, with apparitions wanted, i beg you to come instead of go. and as if parted, before we've started, my warmth for you, i long to show.
he wants to write, he wants me to sing, he wants me to write but i can't write a thing. come to me tonight, come to me and bring, your smile that burns so bright, a touch to help me sing.
For he wants me to write, he wants me to sing, he wants me to write but i can't write a thing...

Steam off the used trucks and compacts.
First thing in the morning I can see what I say. ANd a morning of old ladies warns me of routine.
One lady was so old she had spiders in her hair. living, literal, legit spiders.
I plucked them off of her like a monkey, though I sure as hell wouldnt eat them after.

One day I'll be that old. And if im not careful and attentive, It could be tomorrow. Im already on my way. 2 busted fingers so anything I touch hurts. I'll have the gangrene stephanie once told us about. where it smelled from being washed and bundled up for so many proud years.

Mike laughed when I told him how much it would suck to become blind now that Ive finally paid off my camera. I guess I shouldnt think long-term anymore.

Argyle Socks and Stockings

I want to tell you about childhood impressed by dinosaurs, and teenage years with fists shoves deep in complicated pants.

I want to hold this like the first black clove cigarette I ever smoked, hinged between my fingers as I feigned indifference.

I am convinced it has to go down like a well played chess game, thinking four moves ahead of every metaphor and confession.

As I find myself intrigued without sinister motive.

A sucker for a good story.

You entrust me with your dreams, your memories. So that I can make you remember all of your happy times. do you even think about the ones you trust? for what reason other than title makes us more responsible with your thoughts and emotions than any person on the street? I know its nothing. I can live amongst your memories, like the sandman in your dreams. I can copy your experiences, and retrace your steps, and you let me unknowingly. There was a time Im told when people used to be more concious of their impact on us keepers lives, when you were embarrased to let us in on your family dinners and endless birthday parties. Whether you know it or not, every funeral procession I feel like im missing out on. Every vacation I regret not being there with you. you have that power over me, and im not willing to let that go. The best part is youll never know how connected we can feel to some of you. In fact MOST of you we shrug off. Another graduation, more prom nights, sports events, house construction, long lost friends. Ive had enough of those. I cling to those that go the distance, and make me remember theres an art to all of this. Memories are artistic.