My poem entitled: 16:59
I want to cuddle up to the cigarette smoke and perfume-filled-pores that cover your cloak
I want to taste the taste of hours-old-alcohol settled upon your tongue; unbrushed and uncouth
I want Robert Smith to sing us to sleep in a mess now forgotten
I want cold air to enter my lungs and remind me why I like being alive,
but, I want to feel the warmth from your honest and unclothed organ abode
and we can dwell here together amid the ash beneath the skies;
amid the memories and disasters
amid the crashes and the burns
amid the candles and the glory of my shit youth, and,
amid the deceased unborn and unseeded lives left dormant and dry upon the frequent and pathetic
I want to sleep with my fingers beneath your skin and my eyes in your soul
I want to see into your past with an open mind; I want to see into your future with open arms
I want you to arise from slumber with open legs and place my hand upon your cunt
I want our bodies to speak without words
(Source: neko-, via grahamcoxoff-deactivated2012040)
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