maple syrup

[dead man]

she’s smiling cheek to cheek, wide veneer cheshire
feel my eyes tether through your bed side


this that pressurized, bend-her-over sex drive
the entry to her treasure room, legs wide
find you in the vestibule, whisper at your back side
cause vigors’ just a side effect to when i imbibe
if pleasures just a mental boost
i take pleasure in these mental boosts every damn time

liked. carnal liquor-laced lustful. these are the kind of things i remember most about even the worst relationships i've found myself involved in over the years. first couple lines were rhythmically fantastic.

every touch explodes, fingers foot soldiers on a land-mine
something better be boiling on the inside
finger trace narcotic curves. im on a daze
can’t i? concentrate on what God unfurled?
my pussy.
you love it when i commentate on what i deserve
but you hate when i try to say that im unheard

this is what i meant by that distinct double edge of the writing here. aggressive and domineering followed directly by anxiety and child-like worry. great sex does not replace understanding. communication. compatibility. not even close

undulating hyper-wave has gone berserk
now i’m insane cause you dont fuck the same from what i observed

disliked

im hard headed. my heart is soft centered

loved

call center worker spun into withdrawal shivers
jewel spheres spawn light into these dark whispers
calm flickers, palm slipping, annihilation
we’d drop zippers. soft whimpers, dilating raw rhythm

gorgeous

you and i, condone this
kaleidoscopic, eye scoping, slight hypnosis.
caution warning message is sent
60mg oxytocin shower the flesh of your lips

the last line of this might be my favorite from the work. isn't it all chemical anyway

hypnotic dosage
her butterfly journal. no reason to flutter
like a field i discovered, where i trace over patterns left by previous lovers

ugh.

mind boggled, too.
reading diaries on how they failed to conquer you
chapters left blank, with nothing but a pencil and time
hand drawing rainbows with watercolor pigmenting dye
the arc of your back, with melted oil enzymes
frozen moment in time, where we coil inside

i dated a girl for a very long time who had kept a journal since she was a very young child. she had detailed all of her adolescent crushes, her daily minutia, her family history through her eyes, her few actual relationships. we would read it and laugh. she had stopped keeping a diary a couple years before we met. but i was always curious how our passages would read. we were a chapter left blank. the arched back / melted oil portion creates a beautiful slice of portraiture here.


tongue ready to taste sweat that delicately falls up
like summer tree leaves in the depths of this autumn

kind of uninteresting until you tie it in with the next line

or syrup filling places inbetween bark on a maple

its wintertime now. many of us spent a lot of time outside this year. this pangs of an every-year nostalgia that surfaces right around now. comparing sweat droplets on skin to syrup on bark is actually very pretty. an extraction of effort by any means.

sitting in the hilly banks swaddled in hazel
how are we able? despite our armor
so frigid. both thinking twice as harder

liked for the idea but disliked for the pretty terrible phrasing.

fragile, frosted crystallizing water
budding with pheromones to visualize our partner

loved. it looked like flowerbeds in a river of ice.

bubbling over seas of red & rosy, slow touchings, moans buzzing, and get to know mes
blanket passion. the kiss me slowlys

love turns of phrase like this. moans buzzing, blanket passion, excellent.

turn sound off. let me go, please
enshrouded with fervor
can we hear you in a forest of trees when you shout and you murmur?

i kinda wish you ended it on a different note. you end with sort of a nonsense question posed philosophically. kind of felt like waxing nothing here.

a declaration of lust. pensive romantic reflection. imaginative wandering. all in a distinctly powerful writer's voice. people always say they'll be back to drop some real thoughts and they never return. i hoped to break the cycle here.

thanks bud