Heroine Den

A swamp 

 

A three ring circus tent fell center folded 

 

Pinpricked into the bounty of our pull out couch 

 

We made out

 

Like bandits 

 

Knowing my sense of duty, I left my hair in the drain 

 

I wished I not so pragmatic 

 

I woke into smoke and flushed the sink of your makeup as I cupped the flow into my hand while the warm waves filled and flowed falling from my palm into the porcelain palindrome of an architects wet dream 

 

Breaking up pieces of toothpaste chunks and flem residue 

 

I splashed new water onto my face 

 

Unto my broken wrinkled skin 

 

My thoughts cleared and sobered for a few seconds 

 

I found a pencil and wrote you something meaningful with an eraser at the end 

 

I found a lighter and found you again 

 

Joshua Tool – 02/14/13

 

 

 

Once, I Wasn’t Afraid Of Dying, And Then I Met You.

Smirking like you knew who you were, I followed the creases in your palms like an earthquake.  Upsetting my china and shovel that dreamed to dig there. A topical current of naked curls. The bass of such movement found no god; just the wake of your yawning limbs. Coffee breath ensued my kiss. Not to be mistaken with anger or disgust; I took a shower. Morning now fleeting, we made eggs and had sex in the same claw footed tub. Over easily I felt you pull to the porcelain. Two sets of keys; hoping you don’t catch me in boxers and potato chips on the couch. Also hoping you do.

Joshua Tool – 02/03/13