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Category: Romance and Relationships
if that girl was my girl,
man- I’d sharpen her knives within an inch of our lives n’ powder her puff daily…
leaving her empty,
without a photo to tear or sensibility left to scare-
but the colours that would graze there…
walls filled with intention and stains of pigmented oil.
if my girl she was, I’d poison her pigeons by the fistful-
with or without sharp-clotted dust and crumbed glances…
I’d arch my back
and swell my rib-cage skyward with
something
like
pride-
to walk this storm-cloud world, a creature as-such by
and held and
desired by my side…I’d fill her,
and her days and wrap nights in Danish-deserted sweaty-sheets,
lost loved moments that never stop the lonely,
but always try to solid-ly…
she’d always be in my eyes corner,
with a killing smile ready for whoever’s flirting with her…
I’d hold her stares-
see through and through and through her in those big now’s of eyes and times that slip,
slide and grate by…sinking, longingly into that which you cannot see,
that which tires you would wake me to dreaming..
in a red-room I’d burn for her, sir-
I ain’t so afraid, as you are…
I maybe broken but I’m boldly outlined in magnificent scars-
curling her toes,
send shivers and have lips bitten so quietly the clouds forced to whisper-
if she was mine to call my, owned-
to watch her sleep, to salsa kitchens with and run down alleys with giggles,
chased by our own darkness in the usual streets…
I’d never feel to chain her
as you seem to
as you stand as a bio-mass shield in dark-bars…
I’d make her cry so much harder than you could,
make mild the spear of her woman-hood and
re-make myself a child without pushing, my make don’t make her- but should,
my make causes coco-mo, ya’know?
I know, just know I could-
teach her to speak in tongues like Jesus would be proud of…
forgotten Latin with open vibrations on the pulse and pull of our sex…after which,
I’d drag her out for 7pm breakfasts,
just to show-off the glow sitting heavy between us-
hovering lustfully over our eggs, and somehow darkening our coffee…
she’d own every room,
drop glances that slice out fashion and carve glaciers in sidewalks jump-starting gloom…
with her I’d be balancing gravity and resetting tides n'taunt wires ,
a real naked moment shared we’d talk the soul is a bird,
and heartbreak it’s song-
the sheath it burns, in tips and lips smolder with lashes the real liar,
bones cold with ancient dust and kin’s lost cave fire…s,
-she is not, however,
my girl to loop and circle with my flesh, not my lover-
and that she wants you and not me only adds to the charm of her…
making no measure-
shouts out that ocean clean from her, waves I could boat better,
attention I could grasp under as saddles hard leather…
it’s not because she is not mine that I want her,
it’s just that man- I don’t think you know what you have…there.
12:12 AM
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