Bad boys.

Boyish grins and caramel skin –
just like your daddy said
Fingers kissing places
that your mom would call a sin

She’ll have to grab the soap again –
he’ll have to flash his belt

But there’s something in the way
he flicks his cigarette
and tucks his golden locks away
that make you want to be
the one those fingers touch.

String of pearls.

Secrets leaving trails
from your lips, down to your back
Curving with your body –
making up for what you lack

Whimsical hair dancing
from your cheekbones to your eyes
Begging to be tucked away
though you have no idea why

And sadly I’ll never make up for
the secrets that strung us up tonight
Witch hunt after witch hunt,
though I never lost a fight.

Onward to Florida.

There’s something so nostalgic
about stretching my feet out
in the backseat of a tiny car

And whispering memories
to the pavement that I’m chasing
while I wipe away the teardrops
that leave the clouds
just for me.

no surprises, please.

hello, Miami
my new little baby
see, these projects just don’t feel like they used to

I’ve tried fallin’ in love, but I never fall hard enough
which makes me wonder how I fell in love with you

and I’m writing this all out
on a sticky note that won’t quite stick
drawing sketches
on a dry erase board

and I know you never did understand
any of the thoughts I jotted down
but you knew just how I liked my coffee
and what I looked like in the morning
and I’m asking myself,
in my existential state of mind,
if you could have ever been enough.

I know you don’t watch me walk away

body, remember

I know you don’t watch me walk away. I know you don’t press your forehead against the double glass to keep me in your sight. There is no straining for that one last look, no time suspended in the final unblinking stare. You don’t stay with me until I am just another city glow fading in to night.

Tonight I have said I don’t want to do this anymore. I have said it in the way a liar can tell a single truth, sudden and surprising. You are asleep, or nearly asleep when I whisper it across the back of your head.

I don’t want to do this anymore. This – laying in your arms in yet another bed of tangled sheets. This staccato relationship, our little parody where the only authentic act is how you fall asleep straight after we fuck. And I know what comes next. I can…

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In Your Face (IYF).

Last night,
after I spilled french fries
all over some guys car,
and threw up
all over some guys car,
I stumbled into bed
with my eyes
dark as night
and my lips
still full
of delicious red juice

In my dreams I ran into
the strangest person,
with wild hair,
and crazy eyes.

She laughed
when I thought she was crazy
and told me that
I
was the crazy one,
that
I
was the wild one;
all while she picked mushrooms
from the ground
while painting her hair red.

Then,
she touched me lightly
and watched me fuck some guy,
while she clicked her tongue
and swatted my hand.

I was never one
to have
“relationships”
and she knows that
all too well.

I’ve never had what you would call a
fixed/personality
and I’ve never quite had
what you would call
emotion/s
when it comes to
love/or something like that.

I fuck,
I drink,
I smoke,
and I am dangerous.

He told me
that I was
dangerous
when I stopped him
right in the middle of the street
and asked
Why
I didn’t get a kiss goodnight.

He doesn’t know the difference,
between two, too, and to,
and I guess that doesn’t really
surprise me
all that much.

I’m not looking for love
in all the wrong places,
I’m just looking
for somebody to share my bed
every once in a while –
somebody
who is too stupid
to ask the right questions,
and too insecure
to ask the wrong ones.

Move on.

On Friday nights
the waitresses here
wear lingerie under their clothing,
and Juicy Couture
on their wrists

A taste of mystery,
a splash of desire,
and just a hint of something
you can’t have,
as they bend over in their dresses
to make the drinks
more. tangible.