Press "Enter" to skip to content

courtney:

        i can’t force what isn’t there.
        you get hernias that way.

give your breath
       your stutter-lunged grasp of wind
                        to me.

these lips of yours play,
                         stuck on mine
                                     in motion moved from limb to pool to your
                                                                                   eyes,
                          your eyes, wide-shocked with mine behind, in tow–
                          what glimpse of you, this, your shiver-shake of hold,
                                                                                          gives–
                                                        how, slow, in rise,
                                                                       in
                                                              ten-folding
                                                                    of these
                                                                 sweats,
                                                                  i wish to give
                                                            you more in return of gifts—

bitten,
         lie amongst my arms and know me,
                                           your breath
                                           on drum
                                           laid silently
                                           ‘neath your skin:
                                           all i’ve come to be,
                                           yours,
                                           the comforting
                                           sigh repeated
                                
&n
bsp;          with lungs’
                                           quiet rise
                                           and short’n’d push–
how your throat
                      calls to me
                                     for lips’ security
                                                and i, a
                                                weaker
                                                guard in these,
                                                your
                                                eyes, your wrap, your fingers,
                                                find no use to stay from answering.
by close of finders, i’ve come to find
this calm in movement internalized,
this breeze of thought lapping at lips
to widen and to loosen them, full
within your knowledge of this universe,
Ours;

a knowing of your blush through nudge slown
to mapping draws in trick of nerve,
a play on tick’ to lick of pore;
and in this, our capsuled star let bake,
a drowning of one another grows in breathing, more,
                                            with give of you
                                             and of me take’.

from specks in grass
the wolf, with

One Comment

  1. Anonymous Anonymous September 29, 2005

    “chris:”
    words like whispers
    thoughts like daggars
    peircing through the screen
    but if you knew
    how they affected me
    your text might then be seen
    when i first met you
    that crazy day
    so much hate you possessed
    then you knew me
    and i knew you
    and the rest could be guessed
    words like whispers
    thoughts like daggars
    still peircing through the screen
    this time around…
    if you could…
    try and not be mean 🙂

    There. 🙂 It sucks, I know.

Do NOT follow this link or you will be banned from the site!