Personal KnowledgeThe cigarette smoke danced like butterflies;
as we slept intertwined like the most experienced contortionists.
Mangling and molding out bodies together like twisting vines.
Wrapped up in sheets of eight hundred thread count cotton.
Skin and flesh blanketing our every move.
The bond shared between organ and bone.
And never ending fingertips along every contour the body takes shape.
Veins of mass destruction;
Limbs tied in knots.
Rotting away desires and experience.
Throwing away facades and bleeding away fantasies.
Invincible are we, through crucifying the scarlet letters on eachother's back.
Composing a symphony of "mmm's" and "ahhh's";
Reaking with a backsplash of alcoholic splurge.
Count how many bones my ribcage enhabits.
Enhancing the mandatory committment the physical acquire in the middle of the night.
Marks of sweat from the back of my knees cover those shaking shoulders.
Conquer the urges and vulnerability.
and rub my inner thig
A Mind Fuckplagiarize the images flashing onto the screen
digitalize my life.
and counterfeit my emotions.
iconize the way my fingers stroke th the keys of this
breath of whiskey;
walls covered in years of cigarette smoke.
reworking the contradiction of memorizing pie through numbers of
three point one four one five nine ect.
unbanded heights of new technology
forging electronically through wires of thick rubber.
developing process improvement
by only talking through moriss code;
;until fingers bleed.
a quiet smash as your forehead hits the wet concrete.
and a final reconciliation between comfort and stability
;hits a little too close to home
western romance novels gave us hitler.
but my mother's old record player sang frank sinatra
;and it gave me love.
idle hands of sleeping drinkers never shak
Here's lookin at you, kid
I sat down today
pen in hand, beautiful blank sheet of college-ruled paper
with every intention of writing a declaration of my love
a sonnet, a vow, a sappy, mushy, nauseatingly sweet little poem
about how I love you to bits and pieces
how I can't stop thinking about you
how I want to kiss your lips
and ruffle your hair
and spend forever in your arms.
Or about how I see stars in your eyes
hear joy in your laughter
and doodle my name with your last name
like a love sick school girl.
But I realized that no words are good enough
no expression deep enough
no declaration clear enough
to explain the feeling I have when I hear your voice
Everything I wrote seemed to cheapen the thrill
as if my pen was driven by some unseen force of cliché
and you're too good for cliché.
I thought about describing the way my love for you
is like a tidal wave(1)
and how I want to share every coral sunset with you
and kiss you under a full moon on the beach
when the silver of the moonlight reflects in