 |
behind the windscreen,we are nakedto the rainand the carrier bagsbuffeted around in the windand the shale..in this land.she spoke;''i feel as ifwe hav..
|
|
these damp days,in the doorwayfifteenin the awkward chrysalisof youthand the smell of soapand roses.the sweet innocenceof white,unshaven thighsand a m..
|
|
we were all lovers,in the smokeand the dust.i woke from my sleep,paleand crosswith my wide, owl eyesunseeingand lost.
|
|
oil fumes,and the sand on the backseatfrom the night at the beach..i'm differentto your girlin all her unfeeling fire.more sedate,like the music you p..
|
|
in your clothes,you never left.i never gave upmy hope,in love.never wanteda pale angelor a mindi could touch.you still write me lettersin your cramped..
|
|
i spent last year's childhoodclasped in his armsboy unashamedlyfragile littledollto love.for he was lonely.and i would sleep blindwith my closed butto..
|
|
We're making adolescents of ourselves,
with the red lips
of lust.
our hairless bodies
like seals.
|
|
I don't know if she was beautiful,but she took beautiful photographs.with swinging hair,jeans hang looselyoff your hipslike a boy trying to affectnonc..
|
|
The old romanticssun themselves in June.Floral print,and consumingof the sweet and numb.obsessedwith the powerof transforming love.But I am notendless..
|
|
The day he left, she cried. At four in the morning, crouched fetally underneath the railway bridge, legs tucked under her with her shoes left discarde..
|
|
|
first
prev
Profile
Writing
Friends
Share This