You loved that she could take so much pain, on soft flesh that flooded like milk and roses throughout her body. She looked delicate like a flower petal but she was meaner than you. Writing new stories, I wanted you to be free. It was all about you, even the fiction but you lost your shape and I made you into different characters. Yet it was the spirit of you, and even if I dreamed you into a demon; I could still see your body hologram through each careless escape. You slip like silkiness out of my fiction, as I change the color of your hair, and eyes, as I decipher you into a rose. You could be put into anything not because I wanted to change you but because everything I loved became you; I use your human extract for the abstraction of our youth, chasing love into streets where lovers like us don’t know what defeat is. We laid down in the hotel I poured the rose petals that he gave me on the graveyard of his beautiful body. And the gold in his hair, with the blue in your eye. The sweetness of ice and fire; A moonchild with a prism in your mind. Love is a death that’s to come, and reemerge; I dress myself in your desire open your mouth to taste a fire. A reflex in your body that you cannot control. While you read me all the literature from the library in your soul. A stream floweret imbibed into one another as we glow, like two snakes shaking closely waiting for the snow. Stealthily in your body I roam, come now don’t come alone. Lets leave this place and go into nature my sweetheart, just come. Do not over think it, just leave tomorrow. Or on the weekend. I’m sorry I was stubborn before, lets redden our fingers with berries and touches. Lets lay in the flowers dew wet as our in between-ness. Our kisses can outlast a life time. Time is like an in between sleep; A nightmare or a heaven-wet dream, some nights you dance with love in disguise. My aims to heal you, I promise myself on your unknown lies; I never see a place for me, is that the seconds counting down on me? If I hold it let me know I got it; I unfold like a fallen angel and I am god on it. As my heart whispers to you in this soft Manhattan breeze, would you ever know what love is? If only you opened up like the falling scarf you once hung down on your shoulder. I imagine you vacant on that mattress full of white untidy sheets. I’m passing down those streets, lets just cum again; A back-tide to what it could’ve been. To slip under your tongue like sour candy, this sad disco, and your mouth is a waterfall. Whom do you speak to when you feel lonely? I was dreaming you knew me only. As I watch you in a photograph, to take the sparkle in your eyes that hold a laugh. From a memory I painted it there it’s almost like tears that never came. And I wanted to kiss you like we kissed on the first day I saw your face. So much love inside, yet no one to give this desire avalanche; Full of fragile intensity, bound by rage that can take your thrashing faith. I miss you she said into the air but there was no one there. She wished she could summon him by repeating his name. And she waited for herself to disappear. In the traces of your vapor trail how many bodies do you let sway. It’s like the ending night adieu, swan song; Another lip-less kiss going further inside than only this fragile skin. If you have forgotten me, don’t look for me. We are made to dream. Yet, if you breed new love in your memories; And you desire me, then find me my love under the night with no stars. Open my mouth and you’ll find they glitter there. Grasp gently the throat, pull the cloak of dark hair. Smoothly touch my bareness, in a hunger of a kiss. I’ll wait for you in a midnight dress, for a picture that’s starting at 9PM. Don’t leave time to fade what’s been done, if you go far I won’t find my way my impalpable love. An empty station, a silent day I start to roam and delay a change. But if you truly feel like me, we have so much time to be happy. I grown inside your love and devour all that it is from. There were moments that the only pleasure, was the reflex of pain. I’ll love you when we are blind, when we are young with fever, chasing our desires into the empty streets; Where our kisses move inward, then spin me weak. You might have never known; nearer you’d never be alone. If you loved me for real you wouldn’t let me dream. I was younger than what people thought I was, especially because I never would tell them my age. They started guessing younger than years, then older than years. Almost believing I had no longer real years, so I practically could dream another me. No one would care. A new identity. It’s like changing coats, or being an atheist that just sent all their designer clothes off to a church. I can’t carry all of that with me. It’s too many memories, like a white street. Or bookshops, or cafes, and hotels where we drew in longer breaths than a trumpet player. Did you see Luca today? I said. Walking amongst so many faces, I seem to be lost this afternoon, I’m sitting at this 1930’s art deco detailed coffee shop somewhere in East Village. Just having coffee and gelato since 10 AM it’s almost 2 PM now and all I could do is think non consistent thoughts, while all these ballerinas don’t pivot but tango across in the Manhattan heat with a copper Spanish kiss clinging into the air. So I started writing digital letters, and talking about you again. Nobody is listening they don’t know us together that way. I save the next few words to the razor blades that play in my veins, they say the night is for kissing, and the day is for being born again, the night is for missing, and holding the pain. You’re still so ghetto and you pretend not to know, I frown. Then they all came, full glory lets go to The Roxy for some stupid reason; And I couldn’t move I was stuck to the chair the heat smacking my body like a pound of cocaine. He is unlike me, he doesn’t lose any sleep. Those horny bull feet, they just keep dancing. Where can I find such a disease. A big gulp of blue-black mulberry night, I walk like I’m burning. I fumble because my head is somewhere else it’s not the shoes I’m wearing. Tomorrow is like the modern museum, full of bad art. Smashing nonchalance, like holding each-other violently for only farewells. Maybe if I had a brother I’d know better, but I’m the only one. These fallen angels wrestling which seemed to be you and me, were better than drinking. Yet it feels like almost yesterdays that break my hopes with bad jokes. You were judging everyone I could not begin to think what you had thought of me, I would say I hate you.. Sad truths are funnier but still a bad joke. I blink my eyes loving you. If it wasn’t funny it would be sad I say. For all the smart days that I had un-grown like a tardy child. The waitresses that looked like flirty robbers, the cakes that looked like small pillows, my ankle bone bruised, butt and wrist too. We must have been kicking each other down the streets because it feels like nothing at all then just that. Such flayed sentiments. Oh but there was still neighbors in the glassy windows that stared into the night, the ticks and tocks of the clock before we go; Separately like two fighting beasts with no one winning because this sort of circle was for losers. But I wrote a song because I was in love with you. I am the romantic bloom that would die for you. The rose in the glass you can have the scent till it lasts. I only touch those which I have already fallen in love with, so know when we are touching you are touching my soul. So if you go, know that you are taking my soul. And I’ll always remember you like the lilac night with its hands wrapped around my throat in its joke. And I choke quietly. Till I am no longer here. I thought to myself please don’t go to the places I’m going, you’re going to ruin it for me. But then again I’m moving, and you’ll still be here. To be honest I didn’t care at all anymore. Sometimes bodies fade like shadows by the door. You can have a whole lot of friends but no one to tell your troubles to. Why were you calling me four times in a row? What did you need? I come with a warning. So I said lets begin once again. These are those sometimes that you go out and you don’t know why. And holding that persons hand is like a dead starfish, they feel like loneliness. But it feels like a piece of yourself and you want to hold it like a broken collective, you choose to say yes, but you rather say no. The maybe’s were the worst of all so you rather just go. Now there was these Russians talking about the red army, then about Pushkins poem the fisherman and the goldfish. They were all dressed in black, this was near Tribeca. I thought where are all these people going, fairytales that save lives like drinks. They have gold at their throats, elegant almost. I said the sky drops in my vodka I’d like another; I’ll swallow the clouds, and tonight you can run off with my phenomenon. Which you did into the night like a flying saucer; I’m not sure I remember you at all, maybe your lips. That now just reminded me of a beak that of the bird you spoke of. And there you were in my mind covered by black feathers, it was quite humorous after all. I mustn’t say it was a bad experience, your ragged nerves, your twilight fright, your womanly games. You were almost a woman of some sort. That kind that cannot see her self losing what has already been lost. Just as I read your stories in my mind arrived two firecrackers, they started to sparkle and dance all over my living room floor to baby’s on fire, I started dancing after I finished my drink. Again what a sigh we have with life’s events and they all seem to erode like your black feather in my mind. Some men spend their time begging, only to rarely gather small treats. If any at all. They crawl for long months like a lapdog, I wonder how long can they run? Can they out run their lives, or sorrows, looking for happy endings but not knowing any real memories. The end of a lighter, a flash of hot fire. I grow milky almost transparent, I’m not here or there, and you won’t find me anywhere. I am the alter in your soul, you try to catch but seem to fall. And all your life is a stereopticon, like the lights on the wall. Tears that are dull to pearls, your neck reflecting song of a mutt cry. Where do you keep all your dreams, a screen ephemerides and you’re rarely what you pretend to be. I see nothing at all to empty or dissolve. What lucky animals we are by flaws. It excites me to write things that I believe will be erased like our bodies, this stranger friction than death. That is erotic like touching, it becomes bucolic serene. Such as a window open during night and the noise is almost silent but there is something static; it is like my heart, in disguise of bloom. And that’s what humans did for greater love and hate. They created art from mistakes. You were mine for sometime I let you play around my legs like a lapdog. I’m the same woman I was yesterday, so are you gonna love me today? I was pastel. The blue in the room. I did no longer want to eat things I wanted the thinner to become thinner, and sleepless like the night, and just as ugly as it is with its wild delight. The haunting of nothing but speedy mini miles of bites and the screens, that I deserted beneath the electric of my skin. How I long for the real divine, a shiver in my melancholic spine. The two of us rewind. Like two snakes together quarreling baptized. I am the silk under your eyelids and under your tongue, there is no further heavens where I am from. You breath them through me quietly. As you question what is trust? Love eternal, turns to dust. So what hope do you have for us? Maybe my ribs are sacrificed to your bones, hollowed like the summer that aches for winter; Waiting for the melody to freeze right here in this burning body. And may all my dreams come undone. Trust me no one knows how fucked up I am, my smile could lie to the both of us. While I am out drinking, I’ve been thinking. A table for two, shouldn’t it do, to fit the shoe. To be so rude. The hips that sway like swans of necks, a swan song, a slow death. In this impermanent state I am dazed more than the drugs they take. All my dead darling come crawling lips filled with mermaid bones, and booze. For the dance floors to the blues. The drugs we use. As to dream to open up my insides with songs, black, black, black. A whole opera of scars to be ran over by racing cars. Pearl in your throat which I grasp, the sound of imitating youth. Carried by your far away stories. You put them in my half lies. You put yourself in our half lies, separating like the nights distance; Lingers the smell of your heavy heart and I am not hurting, the laughter has taken its matter. To the night, to the darkness that I dream of you. Where others hold each other tightly. I carry my emotions like a broken harp, it’s almost sharp. I play calmly, only to see you joking. Looking back at you like a double shadow, wishing to be completely swallowed but are you shallow? No longer do I care to know my stranger, what it is that has swallowed me whole. And my friend might get upset I write about him like my fiction, but he said we should get married. How random that would be considering we had only met once, I’m kinda dappling in the idea of this mystic unknown; at least to penetrate into my fiction, like images of love leaving at the train station. I haven’t taken a train in so long, I guess I’d want to do that with my lover, he’s somewhere out there now. Maybe listening to music, maybe not thinking about the future as my friend was. And maybe I thought we had all become fictional. At least the idea my friend had was quite smart, he had painted a cell phone and said ”If you look at it you will find me.” In this quiet languid fox behavior. I said “What’s that? Is that kinda like how instagram photos work?” He laughed and said “Maybe.” To be quite honest these last days I’ve only been thinking of you, your golden threaded hair, the beach, and the sun that I put the 50+ sunscreen on when I am under its rays. I know you’re always there but I don’t want to call. I just want to come over and say kiss me like the yesterdays that moved too fast. As I sat at soho house drinking a pina colada, I stared at it and the future arrived. I saw Vegas. I saw pastels. I saw my see thru white dress, I walked through scintilla sands, it almost caught flames. But all the same I arrived in Vegas, heaven. And you were holding wedding rings, but maybe I was only seeing this because my friend called and was talking about such futures. Either way you were so beautiful, you looked just like you did at The Mark Hotel when we were drinking and no one was around. I remember our exit was like out of a movie, I was wearing that colorful mini Cavalli dress and red Loboutin suede shoes , and you had your blazer and jeans. I could’ve ended every day there in that image. It was almost perfect. I felt bad valentines day I had to go out of town for work.. I think it was Paris, god I was such an asshole and I’m sorry. I guess I loved you and didn’t even notice how much. But I kept you in the creases of my mind, you were and are so brilliant always reading literature or playing music, your beautiful hands on amps and guitars. And you’d play just for me, it would make me feel so good. I’m getting closer to being able to see you again, I’m not sure exactly when.. I’ve needed some time, and if you say goodbye.. I would understand. Somehow I should just shut up, or get on my knees beg. Because all the storybooks say that’s what love would do. At least I’m starting to pack, and this apartment will just be a box.. And is not all life a box or boxes, the only way to live is through anothers soul. Today he wanted to photograph her every day like yesterday. Her dark red lipstick that looked like burgundy hydrangeas. As she pressed a vodka tonic to her lips. Her hair was darker than the night in this light, and red in the mornin’ she was rarely in the sun. Every day went by the same he said.. But not when she was around, they would try to tie cherry strings into one anothers kisses. Eating raspberry sorbets in the afternoon, a blood jam romance. I don’t want to be liked. I want to be loved by one. FUCK YOU ALL. That’s the way to die. She said. A million racing hot rod cars and hot rod men. They came back to Brooklyn at a BBQ before the show, they said they’d stay up all night to pack and get out of the city; Heading out west together but they came back to her home in Chelsea and had sex all night till they fell asleep on the luggage. She dreamed him in her teenage wet dream; falling in love feels like the melody that breaths between us, you sweet music maker. No one would know them there and that was happy. She didn’t even tell him she kissed another before he came back. It didn’t matter at all. I needed my muse back. To pull him by the hair demanding some sort of priceless eternity; That screamed like bats in love. Truly I haven’t been with anyone since my lover, and oh how I loved him. His long hair in silk threads I carried them around my neck like a noose. The smell of natural gold and sunlight from his hair and the sky in his eyes crystal clear and blue as the ocean they move around. I long for those tides, they are my muse. My sweet demon wrapped in raptures there is no duplicity to such kisses.
”Only poets can behave with complete nonsense. Because how sensible is it to write about dreams and make everyone believe you are sane while you are having an extreme dream.” -V