Hers; stolen poems.. minutes.. kisses & takeaways.
Oh fabulous woman, why did you come? It’s a rush-hour for funerals and fuck ups.
Are you frustrated by the burned bridges you’ve built and called it the art of love?
Please, I beg your patience.
Does it make sense?
Is not a realistic question.
Coffee machine instructions and Honk Kong pedestrians can operate smoothly in these fluffed junctions.
What drives a heart until tomorrow emergency room.
A cliché vaccinations, unless they get the sweat, and take off a suit and tie, get rich or die.
Some small talkers distracted my stature, to be present when your problems were just starting to reveal.
We do actually fancy each other.
But a marathon break, thirsty for air.
The exact moment you appeared kissing minutes and takingaway my breath.
I do pack bone if you don’t mind, she exclaimed the vendor and squeezed her bouncing particles for an uninviting chair, unreserved but hurried to munch and get the fuck, that’s just a draft.
A statue, even the 100 years old statue shredded the autumn leaves.
A single malt whiskey was fermenting on the ground of this I told you not to come park.
And they still cry, these old man with broken chances and dead partners.
What they wished when their were in our age.
Is just to hold hands and chortle.
Young man and woman, fall with the orange brown beige leaves and courage sufficient behave not to die by trying too hard to love you love you not. Alive am I double-sworded lips , for asking
These cautious-dangerous words, I write on square rocks bricks building blocks when I wee wee the street corner flocks, humans get fines for kissing too early, might mail an Amazon box, your creativity address says please don’t knock but schedule a slot to hug later or never because life keeps on rolling thunder suitcase airtag tracking back to the beginning of Adam and Eve, will you volunteer to try a forbidden fruit?
Big kid ice cream street corner cool to be here sniffing sugars and other stuff adults do, like standing in line for a Japanese or Thai restaurant, awaiting a miracle on the tip of the tongue that should have locked a kiss instead of frying words in the crowds of lost and found and lost again, the orientation to stare at your facial expressions I am awfully fascinated by, could you just not move for a second, remove the dots of time and I began..
Sorry, I stumbled upon a square rock called a brick and forgot to read you the poem that moved mountains inside of my shepherds pie, must remain committed to the fashion, you know how it is in New Bond Street.
I wish I could hold your hand and this non-existent horizon….
Couldn’t quite tell the difference while attempting an eye gaze with a beautiful stranger that her name is signed below this poem.
Writing backward, eating forward, and leaning like a scavenger pulls a bite of a dumped backbone, licking for clues of survival.
Keep the doc away or other marketing schemes of drink your juice and shut up, pay first sit later, better take away so perhaps we could proceed to my couch where you accidentally crashed course your boots into my territory asking secretly to cease being a beautiful stranger, in Mongolia this will last a century.
I guess I see you next lifetime.
A wildflower, a city pigeon never knew anything except concrete and shoe bottom colors, everything that kisses during the cold London nights.
And we march according to gravity, physical principles.. as fast as one gets since 17:50 beers after work get warmer even in 12ish degrees of I wanted to hold your hand but I couldn’t..
Long gone sailor has stranded on the misty shores of this humanity, pressured to pay attention to what you say, I might record next, not to miss the details to impress when asked about the third culture thing. You are.
Interesting to the white of my eye balls rolling around noble Street names like Henry the third and other single culture kids that died way too long to dare and give us an advice of how to hug without shame.
Your written name on this marble arch game power, fame and other vocals I can’t currently sing since I plan to listen but just can’t, kiss but it’s not time, I hesitate of when your fingers caressed your own hair and whispered, come closer, stranger, Ascension song by Maxwell, playing in the imagination of the excuses to give you a second chance, perhaps a last one or two, who’s counting espresso shots, I’m drunk from work, the works of this work.
Intellectually working to forget the essence of this gain, the pain is accumulated and I bury the tears to contain yours. Will these liquids grow the weeds, a rocky shaped nothing island has suggested a stronger gust of wind, to match us better. Colder evenings, you figure out how to hug when there is only one last dance to apply a beating heart, has stranded in doubt full lust, I choose you, tonight.
Hers; stolen poems.. minutes.. kisses & takeaways are crawling in my gut.
Go away, as long as you bake chocolate statues, unlike new generation kids throw the bread of this crust.
What’s left to chew but you..
