excited me
let me down
gotten me drunk
fucked me hard
enlightened me
fucked me again
left marks on me
disoriented me
spit fire at me
shown me the river
become a pattern
and has not
the city has and has not.
the city has and has nothing.


the tides.I. he with the eyes heavy, lips shaky, flooding my head, and the shell of wool coat and the red in his cheeks, and. and, the shape of him, his cornhusk skin, his long heavy calm and the weight of his palm, and, and. tongue - like -- honey, sick - from -- use, and nothing but running can get me loose so i lie.the tides.
II. free without freedom in the banks of his sheets, where i think and he thinks of the crests of wet sleep. and. the math of his birthmarks, the math of his birthmarks, the sick numbers leaving that broken oak face and with


all this wandering around.she had the little dipper between her shoulder blades. braille poking brown heads from the soil of her skin, and. and she held her sorrow thick like lightning dripping from those downturned lips; a sad wolf howling, pained expressions matting up its face (as lace, in all its false pretenses, begs you not to stop.) crop circles in her pale wheat hair, buzzing as cicadas would, on wooden slats of southern steps and Mama with her too-sweet tea. sweating through the thick of glass, she holds her sorrow still.all this wandering around.
shoulders taut but elbows not, smoke pouring from those lips; from open palm,
--
stephen.
--
stephen.
--
Be yourself and f**k the rest.
--
stephen.
--
Do you believe in always,the wind
said to the rain
I am too busy with
my flowers to believe,the rain answered
--
--
stephen.
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