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
 
 
 
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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