one of my longer pieces.

There is a fight in our living room. Its okay to be covered in rain, and it's okay to count the bones on our christmas tree. There is a fight in our living room and its between you and me.

Maybe you're thinking how to stuff my mouth with leaves, to stop the crying.
Maybe you are thinking how sexy the smash of my teeth is, against your arms.
Maybe the way my fingers translate in tounges, leads you into my ribs.

There is a fight in our living room. I am holding up a head, the cherries on the trees still waltz in my heart- that's what i want you to say. I want you to say the red is on your arms and it's more than an empty head, a goldfish bowl, my fingers pressing into your face. Shaking your heart, so so. Breaking your legs, so and so. I want you to list the reasons of the heart- apple core of the eye, wallpaper dotted with an old couple.

There is a fight in our living room and it leaves m watching the birds on the wires, somehow, looking like lover's at eachothers feet. That is how history sleeps, and there is a place with my name in that line of beds, piling on eachother. Eventually, we will yield the skin back to see you as a cat. I will be angry, for days, months, watching a documentary of a dolphin through the neighbours window. I will hold you out an apple and trace the years on your face, I will pull on your whiskers, knaw on your tail. You will wiltz my heart to turn it into a love letter, rest it on the bookshelf, you will kiss me oh there.

Author's Note

not about me or my relationship. obvservation, kids!

Reviews

argh, argh, argh
I have a mindgasm every time I read something of yours, ahahaha

and that's a damned good thing.