Winter yours

Winter you’re the lover who taught me how good it feels to be cradled in a chokehold while being fucked. Sometimes there’s so much of you going on all at once. Sometimes your foggy breath and dripping sweat are salty like the sea near my town and its lovely, it blows all around me as you blow into my neck so rough. But sometimes you thrash too wildly about and it’s strange because I know you’ve done this so many times before. When this happens and you start gauging me with your wet tongue I wonder when it will be over and remember why I don’t shave my legs for you in particular like I will for the sensuality of your brothers. But then you always remember to choke me Winter and its insidious too. Your cloudy fingers tinged with gray work their way across the skyline of my collarbone and shoulders and wrap themselves around my vocal cords. Sometimes you’re softer than others but I like it most when I can’t shake it off even the next day. When you choke me like that Winter it’s like blacking out and all your thrashing isn’t even noticeable anymore. When you grab my throat like that Winter all I can feel is you moving in and out and around my flesh and bones. Sometimes in all that movement there’s a black space of swallowing movement really and you Winter feel warmer than all the rest when you do that.

tonto

the man i know who loves me second most is teaching me that i am the kindest woman around town until i know you know it and then i become as hard and callous as a callous on that romanian woman's feet, the one who lives up a few feet in the upstairs apartment and has trouble walking a few feet because the skin on her feet is so tough and rough. hi yes my brutishness is just disgusting and i have about as much wherewithal as she does to hide it- the kind of wherewithal that diminishes with time. i care care so much about the way beings care but that being said its only the care thats being brought into being by how much their care can please me. which, admittedly, knowing my appetite, is pretty damn limited.
simply enough though despite this tough im simple as they come, i would say. see foods i find delicious must be high in fat, see, peanut butter, see, avocadoes. i order the same thing at restaurants and i go to the same restaurants and it never feels the same and i revel in that same. erica jong is my lady and we have afternoon tea at three quite frequently by my window on that dark red sofa. i like watching pretty boys undress and sometimes when they undress their thoughts like so many of their shirts and trousers i will listen sometimes. it's like winning a battle and losing a war.

Plath Syndrome

i am the woman that will not wash her hair for days and
i am the woman that will come out looking like marie antoinette as a result and
i was the child that read a book or two a day and mimicked the greats in her mama's mirror and
i was the child that wanted to leave babydom and cross the moat as soon as their heads were turned and
i will be the mother that loathes sucking her husband's cock but stays for the steady
scratch that repeat rewind alright optimism let's try again i will be say it
i will be the mother that languishes in the countryside with her little loves by her side and
i will be the mother that cooks cakes and bakes pot roast and adores it and him with his manhattans and
i am the woman who will make these manhattans although
i was the child that drank too many of them but
i will still be the mother who can make them

even if i dont want to

ren

I know a man that
makes it alright to put hype
and breathtaking, in

the beautiful sense
of the word and feeling and
feeling good for it

for putting the two
together as if theres no
other way but his

christmastime i love
you and you and that which was
you, delicate hype

an old testament sort of evening

i just had a stroll with jacob of old
i threw my words and burns at him
and he listened, jacob of old
and he was tired because he plants trees all day
and he was dusty but he dusted the dirt away
and hes got a direct line with god
and he figured that i needed ice cream birthday cake style
i just had a stroll with jacob of old
i threw my eyes up in relief because he says god says

i'm gonna get better soon
i'm just gonna have to leave that shit alone

the word replacement doesnt exist

i know im in a bad way when i want to be in a bad way and living off air and smoke and black liquid seems like a good idea and the sneaking suspicion starts that maybe ive been missing out on whats in all those pretty crystal bottles that everyone else gets to drink but not me never me but maybe me again just maybe.
its just that either way and no matter which way i twist it im broken any way i shape it anyway so whats the point of trying another way than the way i knew for so long, i mean, thats my way any way and no one would blame me for going that way its the alcoholics way its the junkies way and its a certain way i know well
its just that i already feel so grimy on the inside and i like continuity i want my insides to match your outsides his outsides her outsides but i just stay grimy and i know how to make my outsides grimy right quick and right to the quick of it
at least then i knew where the sad came from it came from wanting to be gone and the gone not coming fast enough but coming coming coming nonetheless this way im just waiting to be hit by a car or beaten at a bar or go down in an airplane real far trying to get out of this fuckin lonely loveless town full of books and academia and essays and mean boys who will fuck you just to reach in and grab your heart and swallow it whole and walk out the door satisfied with the blood drippin down the side of their mouth.

or ill just read faulkner and pretend im in the south with a love and the wind will bellow and billow real warm around us and ill get that same feeling i used to get in my gut from that flask of cognac me and my little imp used to carry around. cause there was nothing like it, nothing like those cold still days or nothing like the drugs or nothing like her my dearest friend my other half that stuck that rusty needle in my back. still, theres been nothing like it. maybe the south will heat things up again.

he has no problem
picking books over naked
small hands, my tongue, soft

i have no problem
picking him over me my
peace ebbing away

please god please let me
leave it alone this time i
have learning to do

too

to her:

i carry on this affair because i know that in the depths and the roots of your hair
you'd kill for this kind of affection and a section of my nights are freed up for dalliances
(and i can hardly stand to not be filled up now and again any way anyway
(like a car in need of juice to go go go it's kind of the same with me) )

and when we're sitting on the moldy plywood dock and wearing 1940s charcoal blue smocks
i always get the feeling that we will start reeling with anxiety if i don't keep up the chatter
and so i do what you do so that i know what the blue of your dress feels like
and then my girl and i have something to unfurl and dissect and chatchit about for some time

because when it comes down to the brass tacks and brown of it all
i'm just trying to scrub and bleach away afternoons with each rub and toss of our body
the our that's happening right now, there's no consistent right now our you know

do i really really do i i do really really i do i do i have to do this again? again? again? again?
not again.

he swivels his hips and
brings me doughy bagel bits
the way saint paul could have
if i could have
gotten him to love me