Strike....
Inhale, Exhale, Flick.
My habitual habitat.
Cushions, no pillows...
Silence.

My ears are begging
Violent violet repetition
Repeated and rendered
As a hum against my ear...
(I'm just waiting)

Faded and proved
By silence I've come to own
Frivolous fabricated motion- I perk
And recede into the upholstery...
(I pretend)

The standalone is and will be,
And the only sight I can adopt
Is the fall of my shortcomings
Just too far to touch...
(I'm reaching)

Grabbing at invisibility
I hold the shadow-
My memories,
The only thing that gives it weight.

I've come to know
Your jagged winter struck against
My sleeping summer
How you'd never share a cigarette
Until you hadn't any left.

I've come to fathom
Why you always smoke faster
Because you're racing for something more
To kill the taste in your mouth.

It's so far driven
Past the dreary pillow talk,
Pillow Smoke,
And copasedic variations
Of our realities.

That momentary beauty
Sweat spurred incantations of perfection,
Have receded into worlds of difference...
I'm left with flagrant shadows
That taunt from out of reach.
(I forget.)




To quote Clerks-
"You just wait, I'll put the hookers in Time Square to shame."
Haha... how I love to make fun of my horribly failed love life...