dry eyes, butterflies..my palms are sweating no, no it's my pancreas and it's leaking out my navel and it's getting a stain on my shirt and its dripping down like the juice from your chin i kind of want to kiss it awaydry eyes, butterflies..
kind of
but you wipe it off and take another bite of strawberry or blackberry or blueberry some kind of berry and im feeling berry red
the planes overhead are flying lower and im hoping one crashes into my skull or my backbone whichever is easier to snap like a pencil or a toothpick or a bra strap somethin
fairy dust: wings clippedThe grass tickles my neck, with my eyes closed it transforms into your ragged breath. Either way, it makes me squirm. Brown orbs flecked with dying leaves travel up the base of the tree. following the cracks in the bark as if it was some ancient roadway leading me to the pale, tattered blue of the sky. The twinkling chorus above me lulls me into an euphoric prison of thought. Euphoric beacse I'm trapped with daydreams of melting popsicles, discarded socks, your door locked (you never lock your door, let alone shut it). A prison because I'm stuck here in this darkening room and my eyes are wide shut. I'll be put out on parole soon, but the onlfairy dust: wings clipped
moonjuiceI slept with the moon last night, her glowing curves slipping beneath my fingertips as I kissed away her flesh. It didn't taste like cheese, she never liked people saying that that is what she is made of. She says she's made of light, and shadows, and simplicity, and sex. Not gouda, cheddar, american, or parmesan. My fingers entered the crevases of her mountains, craters, space rock conservatories. She told me I was pretty. We slept together, hanging from a star and a traitor rocked ship, our hair curling, twisting, braiding together. There were a lot of blogs about how beautiful the milky way looked last night.moonjuice
I slept with the
a fruit, per seThe lonely woman in the laundrymat with the Nietzsche novel resting on her knee. The renegade truck driver who enjoys planting and tasting world class chives. The alien away from his world planet, being looked at to sign on for a record deal with Throwdown records. The lemonade that was made with oranges. The orange juice that was made with lemons. Partially hydrogenated beets hanging off of the upper ledges of appartment buildings in a Middle Eastern essex. Someone taking a nap on a renegade airplane wing. A fruit, per se.a fruit, per se
Your smile in the corner as I steal backwards glances at the two of you, pretending to be looking behind yo
dont even bother to read this
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K!
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Becker
~beckerdan
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//Exposure.
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it's done!
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