![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
It’s your wrong and my bad.
When we talk, it’s ritual without context. Stabbing, swimming, fluttering between our humorous anecdote exchanges and banal remembrances, our eyes and minds speak a whole other time period to each other. We reek of ‘what if’ and stink of paths not taken. It’s like our pheromones are hugging, snapping fingers, and high-fiving. Our lips speak to each other and it’s got nothing to do with the words they’re saying.
I want to support you in your goals, my left ear says. I want to see a mixture of your face and my face on our children, my fingers whisper. You make me know that if I had a genie, my first wish wouldn’t be for world peace. You light a campfire near my cowboy heart to keep it warm on this long ride across the prairies. A shooting star of forgiveness and light, making wishes unnecessary. You are a closed door that became an open window.
Sex rises up from your body like steam from spilled intestines on a winter battlefield. A sign of carnage. You have axes taped to your back underneath your wings and your eyes could engrave handcuffs with their strength. The gazelle you have trapped in your mouth speaks through your laugh. You turn inward for a moment and I see bare skin shrugs on bear skin rugs near a warm fireplace while the rain hits the windows. I’m looking through the wrong end of a telescope memory.
Let’s make this odd night into an evening. Let’s explore the topography of typography. Let’s separate the L33T from the chaff. Let’s throttle the throttle and have faith in shadows.
We’re both self-portraits. Let’s introduce each other to the artists.
tags
When we talk, it’s ritual without context. Stabbing, swimming, fluttering between our humorous anecdote exchanges and banal remembrances, our eyes and minds speak a whole other time period to each other. We reek of ‘what if’ and stink of paths not taken. It’s like our pheromones are hugging, snapping fingers, and high-fiving. Our lips speak to each other and it’s got nothing to do with the words they’re saying.
I want to support you in your goals, my left ear says. I want to see a mixture of your face and my face on our children, my fingers whisper. You make me know that if I had a genie, my first wish wouldn’t be for world peace. You light a campfire near my cowboy heart to keep it warm on this long ride across the prairies. A shooting star of forgiveness and light, making wishes unnecessary. You are a closed door that became an open window.
Sex rises up from your body like steam from spilled intestines on a winter battlefield. A sign of carnage. You have axes taped to your back underneath your wings and your eyes could engrave handcuffs with their strength. The gazelle you have trapped in your mouth speaks through your laugh. You turn inward for a moment and I see bare skin shrugs on bear skin rugs near a warm fireplace while the rain hits the windows. I’m looking through the wrong end of a telescope memory.
Let’s make this odd night into an evening. Let’s explore the topography of typography. Let’s separate the L33T from the chaff. Let’s throttle the throttle and have faith in shadows.
We’re both self-portraits. Let’s introduce each other to the artists.
tags