decembertwelveth is a fullmooni.I miss you the most because of that look in your eyes I vaguely remember. Such a stubborn, prairie man that stared back into my curious, and sometimes childish, gaze. Your face is the definition of a closed book. I would crack my spine when it got sore and pretend you were still there, hugging me from behind, lifting me up and arching your back with mine. Full spinal-cord-popping sort of pleasure. Sometimes your back would crack at the same time. Your hugs were always so engulfing. Even though its an unhealthy habit I can’t help but want it. That is, the bone snapping that I’m talking about, not your presen
ocean wavesStep in. open and expose if you dare. Only a certain type of courage fit’s the puzzle. In the end, only occasionally will it prove an advantage.Pounding melody of deepest butterfly truths. Reaching higher and higher frequencies and stooping low to the earthly beats. Simultaneously.Contrast united in pools and streams of ever-changing gasoline. Drowning all the ink soaked plans.Bashing heavy waves against my brain only to snatch it away when I have adjusted to the monotony.
rooftop smilesStaring in to a strangers glass you don’t want to recognize the face looking back. Whispers of songs come through the doors and walls. Familiar music playing from a distant time that has no date and holds no particular circumstance. Only shorts glimpses of faces. We are great friends with the space of time each individual song takes up. A glazed over world in muted tones. A record disc bass line bent and scratched by the pressure of needles. Soaring, dreaming injections. Time depends on the beat of the music. Skip a beat and time skips with it. Unsure if what you are seeing are flickers of movement or just delayed seconds befor
Sta.sh
