(1)
First impression:
The same as all my impressions:
Lust. A word crossed out, the
word you crossed out. The
word I wrote, you crossed it out (for me.)
cut one, cut two, cut three.
(2)
I held the paper to the light and
saw you crossed it out too.
The word you crossed out and
I believed that curling strike
aligned our affection,
that negation
erected something
beyond lust. A declaration beyond lust
evidenced in an empty room where
shots erotic and limbs free.
cut a, cut b, cut c.
(3)
And you, of all who
uncross lust
and frost the tops of stoic
slots (pink and warm and wet to yearn)
will fuck anything that moves.
She fumes.
Ready. Peach armour.
The gloss of age-lines sloshed.
under a rush of sanguine wash.
and healed marks reopened.
And broken hearts still broken.
Vulnerable in transparency.
cut one.
cut two.
cut three.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
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1 footnotes:
my favorite
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