Please

hold onto my words
when I am tired.
they slip from my mouth:
and if you don't keep them,
I don't know where
they would go.

"home," you would expect,
but I wouldn't think
to look there.

Into the city, I run.

Women don't love, they just try to be fair,
And the ladies will pick you apart:
It's the girls that you need
With their tangible hearts
Who'll run to you, no matter where.


Into the city, I run.

Lull

If you were here to guide me into a warm sleep, I'd hold you very tightly. Hands softening the stresses in your neck. Toes curling, reaching for yours, but falling short to gently stroke your shins. But for the main event:

My lips rest against your cheek. Slightly parted. Warm breath. Keeping pace with your heart beat. At first staggered.
And then slowly.
[Slowly.]

Steady. Like a soldiers drum.

I wish I was a snake.

Beneath sheets, I bare
no arms,
no intent,
only a limp acceptance of the days
movements, and skin.

Freckles dot my shoulders,
more recently exposed to what was arguably 'summer',
and the bruises that bloom on my thighs from work are
worn as yellowing trophies for
"Most Improved" and "Team Player of the Year".

I wish I was a snake.
Belly flat and slithering,
and shedding, never old.