the tendrils of evening have not gone
they are shadow puppets on a
wall that can breathe
they are fingers that taste the paint
soft & round like his body
smaller than mine but strong.
where i am bountiful he subtracts
metered in the most delicate way
white follicles that slope between his thighs.
i could pluck his cells like a violin
with my tongue,
drink from the pores of his lower back.
to devour his unwashed skin
would still not be enough.

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cold nights in well

piercing cold in the dark by the field, long grass and a quiet breeze and field mice that ran over our toes in the dark. wandering back from the bar, drunk and stoned, that crisp european air tastes the same in well as it does in brussels, in paris, in prague. we are here, in a place from a dream, and we hold hands and skip back to our beds in the night. remember how this feels. remember the lonely feeling of being surrounded by 100 people all the time but knowing none of them. so isolated from the rest of your world in a way that connects you so deeply to the rest of it.

walking over cold cobblestones in paris.

i don’t know what i’m saying. lots of memories tonight.

it’s such a cliche to write about the ocean but it’s all my mind is on, a brain submerged in brine, salt and acid eating away at the cells. i dream of ash-colored girls, of shells and sand that tornadoes around in trills of air, like the wind wants to sing but can’t find the right pitch. i drink it in with my eyes like my ears but it’s not the same, gulping with pupils won’t sustain me like the┬ásea, gasping at the foam while i drown, diffuse, decay. i will become one with it, particles of person floating on the waves, till it carries me out to forever, till i am forever. i am the place where the sky meets the sea. i am that shadow of horizon you think you can see but you can’t, i am figment, i don’t really exist at all.

the way you smell when you are naked
is different from the way you smell
when you are dressed

deep heavy musk
that slithers down my throat

white cloth stained with tears
(my eyes leak when i lay down)

i’d inhale this cotton forever if i could

gray is the warmest color

last night we talked about colors
you said “i like gray”
i said i prefer blue
like the shirt i wore that rode up
tight cloth and my nipples on your chest
straddling your hips like they were the world,
my world, in a pair of faded chords

gray is the warmest color
when it pulls across your pelvis
like the way i pulled your hand
down an ash-colored street
new york city in the winter
mazzy star and black tea and
your dusty peacoat
held tight against the cold

i want to know everything there is to know about you
i want to feel every place there is to feel within you

the first time we touched it was dark
and i wore a gray dress that i never wear
anymore.
tight, an outline of my abdomen, the curves,
that slope of my lower back,
and i was so aware of it,
the way my hips looked,
the way you watched me walk away

now we are naked
and when i press my face against your chest
and say “i like you”
what i’m really saying is
“i love you”

last night we talked about colors