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midnight pantie parade

     

Saturday, May 31

 


clay aiken is stripes. if he was any pattern, he'd be stripes, and i'd be running down his chest parrelelly.




two in the morning.
route 1a west, merging into route 1 south, into searsport.
to the cove.
we didn't speak, knowing that silence always answered all questions either of us had for the other.
quiet echoed like a thunderstorm on a humid day
and the pale moon illuminated your face.
i held my breath.
i had forgotten how beautiful your lips look when they're not moving.
flashlights and fireflies led us down to the ocean's edge.
we sat on the rocks,
the ocean kissed our toes.
and we sat lightless lifeless in the dark listening to the song
the waves sang as they caressed the rocks
with salty crests,
leaving saline foam in their wake.

can't you taste it?

Thursday, May 29

 
i feel like the following has already been written, and it just fell to the front of my memory and out it came. but i don't know.

i stood
open palmed
face strained
towards the
gray waiting.
for rain to
fall in uneven
rhythm against
the delicate.
skin covering
closed eyes.


that's why i say hey man, nice shot.
 
you're the breath i breathed when i forgot to inhale after you left my lungs.

i saw you last night. i clawed into your bedroom and stared beneath the stars at your figure under sheets of white.

Wednesday, May 28

 
i walk like i'm fighting with the ground and gravity at the same time, as if the way i swing my hips arms lips is the way a swing my fists.


if i wasn't such a sucker for you.
 
and properly punctuiate things.
 
and poems for that matter. i can make a salad, but i can't write a poem. if only i could switch those two outrageously fnatasitcic abilities. and if only i could spell at three eighteen in the morn,
 
i like salads.

Tuesday, May 27

 
goddess? what are you, a salad dressing?

Don't you Even think about it.

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