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1300–2200°F No Tongue No Teeth
Wednesday wine, olives, cheese date with your shadow, oops I did it again, but probably for the last time, mesmerizing your gentle erosive touch, and falling asleep choking a random pillow, missing something that has faded like the American dream.
The rain commenced, and my tears had dried out as I quick-learned to forgive your demeanor.
I must sit better, strengthen my back, stretch my stature, and blow my chest. You know how the tables turn when your inner volcano erupts and lungs just expand the vacuum, calling for a hug to relex.
Since when exactly I give fucks about the clapping or the commentary of your father mother sister brother, I love you without your background noise. Along my side, or drowning in a storm of who the fuck is fucking you now.
I am not angry, I simply thought the word fuck could illustrate what I want to do to you, but actually ravish with affectionate turbulent love as you deserve and I am 100% convinced you won’t get it elsewhere since my post-traumatic trauma takes it as a tennis game of healing. to treat you right makes me feel complete.
I joy my love as my poetry, drafty.
Will you marry me?
Just before we break up?
