Tag: word porn

CANDY LOTTO BEER CHIPS CIGARETTES

I-Just-Wish-I-Was-Home doesn’t mean much until it’s 5 AM and I’m skinless once again.

My baby doesn’t mind the perfume huff and steaming of cigar smoke. She kisses me like it were something funny, laughs at the haste on my tongue like it was a joke. Keeps me hanging in her arms loaded and waiting like a punch line, when her parents are asleep but what’s fifteen minutes in my car downstairs. My hands on her and mind on Thalia, thick and bubble with a quench to make your ends go POP.

But she’s gone home with flies and I’m still hungry as the wolf for Elis’ soft purrs.

Soare cu dinti as the Romans say, but you never know how wet it is until you get inside.

“You taste like a strip club,” Elis says with a sour face, a quarter into it and half complaining.

“Can’t be. I’m Catholic.” I said dimming.She laughs like it were something funny and the tongue on her taste is ruinous.

I’ve got blues black enough to make the moon go silent, stars stark as the amber gloss on her faded pajama top and stretched nylons. Dark hearts, sea-saw’d faults, one swing and a slide on a lark to hands fumbling for meaning. Absolution for dummies, prayer made easy: all it takes is a good idea gone bad in a passenger seat to make a sin, all we’ll wake to is alarm clocks, sweat, and porcelain kisses. 

Soare cu dinti as the Romans say, but you never know how wet it is until you get inside.

“There,” she hums. “Right there.”

“Where,” I drum. “Tell me where,”

She isn’t wearing panties, just cut-off jeans and a weak hurt. Neither was Thalia. Brown like the dawn and burning honest as a truth left burning on a text message. A tout touch touched terrifically. Weak and wishing. Honorably hungry.

I didn’t care enough to tell one from the other. I couldn’t tell the difference and let myself balloon on the air of two sweet jaded frictions. Numb without a word. Come devout and sure. Whispers that she’s mine while the sun is rising to make us human.

And then it started raining.

Hardly A Harlequin (aka I’m Casper, The Friendly Ghost’n)

Honesty is empty, like pouring a glass of wine into a shot. Glass breaks the same way night does – beautifully, at first, but come morning what’s jagged and terrible stabs into view. “I like you,” Quotes and women you pretend weren’t ever an occurrence as you gracefully stutter awake to the alarm clock. 5 : 00 A M . Man, those red lines glaring could make anyone think they were walking towards a death sentence.

But not you.

The window is ajar in the bathroom, and as your shower the feint aroma of 7th grade reminds you of cafeterias and handball courts you haven’t visited in ages. Nostalgia (hyphen) catalyzed by the way the air felt September 3rd. when you were thirteen with nothing but snug tees and a Reddit account you barely visited, acknowledging that never went beyond an appreciation of memes. Hashtag #I-Like-This-If-You-Like-Me, making friends against your belt that don’t end well.

But you’re bored and he’s cute.

Long drives and short sighs trying to trigger where the lust and listless began. The gorgeous eyes that gorge us guys drifting to Elysium (and molly if he’s down to party, so long as he’s paying for that too.) Ooh, never mind. It’s late and I have to-

Good night.