Latch

When he kissed me my lips were
uninspired, my mind latched on
to thoughts of how it would be
with you

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Sometimes

Sometimes I feel like if I write enough stories I can write myself alive. Write myself a life. Right myself for life.

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Broken

I think I like the broken ones best. The ones with scars on their chests, the ones who’ve fallen over board without a life vest, the ones who’ve hit rock bottom and clawed their way back up.

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The Concept of Time

Through rose colored glasses
you watched me walk
walking on stained glass

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Complicit

I became complicit
in my own consumption

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wet

I’ll be your
favorite story

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Window

Would you lay
in bed with me on a
lazy Sunday morning

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Up-skirt 2

I’ve bathed in the light of a brilliant moon

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Velocity

There’s nothing keeping
me here anymore;
maybe I should go

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the real you

I wonder if you’re
standing down
or sitting up

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nameless woman


already madness moves its mouth
to cover half my soul, its breath like
a snowstorm, making my world cold

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Inside Out

Simply fucking
is not enough

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Auralism

Send a recording,
just the sound

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Brilliantly Realigning

I like the shape of my water bottle after a run —crumpled in the corners where my grip was, like I was holding on for life, or something.

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To Be, Or…

Tie and be tied, that
was the vision for the day
that morning, that is,
once conscious thoughts
took hold of my orgasm laced body

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The Rope

The rope is therapeutic
something new to get lost in
something else to make my
heart race and my soul
a little less restless

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I do love things

Like exploring the texture of things —I love touching things, touching things and tapping into sensations.

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I can’t wait

I can’t wait to climb on top again
I can’t wait to wrap my fingers
around it and hold on tightly.

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Face My Face

I need to go to the mirror
and look at myself

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