You are a delinquient in Helios’ ride,
sheddin’ your dead skin all over tomorrow.
gotta hand it to you,
gotta hand it to you,
seein’ you is zero-to-uzi,
‘n they always talk about lightnin’ in a bottle.
‘n you, you gotta do it first,
much, much as I wanna,
you gotta do it first.
‘n I can’t help but think those dirty pictures you send me,
they ain’t made to order,
‘n that’s fine,
that’s just, just, fine,
but it seems kinda like you’re invitin’ me,
to watch you ‘n them,
‘n that don’t feel like my place.
I sideways scrawl little poems for you in the mental margins of today,
‘n they all start like ‘n old smoker scroungin’ for trampled wet cigarettes–
– you must have dropped ’em without thinkin’
‘n I got this headache that won’t, won’t go,
I know that back arched bliss-drug-agony,
your breasts cupped in hand,
your ass pushed against me,
movin’ in time with the clutchin’ in our breathin’,
sweat-slick,
hand cuppin’ your cheek, gentle , gentle directions,
tastin’ the vodka on your breath,
imported rubbin’ alcohol tastin’ shit,
that you love, love, love,
other hand clutchin’ at your blond curls,
your dick pulsin’ against me.
‘n you play video games ‘n forget to talk to me,
‘n you cry over someone else’s children,
‘n you tell me that I don’t love you, I couldn’t love you,
‘n you cry with wet desperate tears when I make myself stop usin’ you,
‘n you tell me gently, while I’m drunk, that you don’t want to be that for me,
‘n you choose to ignore the fact that I wish I had you the way he does,
‘n you ‘n I stopped lovin’ each other a long, long, time ago,
‘n you
were my first kiss,
sloppy ‘n wrong, but understandin’
you are hope ‘n lust ‘n fantasy,
you are flecks of dry skin scattered over future sunrise,
‘n I am granite rooted watchin’ you flick on by.
