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Thursday, July 21, 2016


The cinammon sprinkle is hugging the surface of my espresso right now.. And when i wrap my fingers around the waist of the white china cup it holds on tight to me , when i bend over to kiss your sunburnt knee the smooth hair on your legs caress my lips and the skin im touching  becomes mine momentarily then i think of how my cheek wakes to the roughness of your beard purring like a cat layed out in the sun and what they say about touch on an atomic level or the extreme closeness instead, a repulsion of molecules or a chemical reaction inversely ... 
The particles we are made of, our matter.. How much of us is water, metal, fiber, air
Much dead skin is ressucitated against how much dead skin when you touch me ...and if two deaths cancel each other out 

Sunday, July 17, 2016

Because losing you is still a fresh open wound...

Saturday, July 16, 2016

Honey melon and sweat

Summer nights are accessorized by fans and open windows and a breeze that shoves the curtain out and sucks it back in like an indifferent mouth blowing and popping bubble gum... And for flustered semi nudes who lie underneath those mouths hoping the refreshing breath would lull them to sleep.. A semi nude who was fully clothed just hours before, biking home, glazed in summer sweat, passing one beauty after the other, checking her own reflection in store windows, insecurities bubbling up and settling down by a desiring gaze. Feeling like a passive slice in an impossible meat market. Counting the grey hair while getting ready for bed. Summer nights don't acknowledge your need for solitude. They want you in your best shape and on your best behaviour ready for the competition. They smell like honey melons and sweat, summer nights are cruel and liberating at the same time, like walking with a pebble in your most comfortable shoes. 

Wednesday, July 06, 2016

...if seeing me does not seem to  do the trick anymore, close your eyes and imagine me instead

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Ideas for an animation

There is a pit in my stomach that is sucking the whole of me, in this swirling-flushing motion, inside.
A "bottomless, bottomful feeling" she said.
I am being flushed down into myself
perhaps what will come out is clear waters and calm streams
but if nothing comes out?
if my belly button, my gaping pit churns me in and traps me there
if i'm not recycled, refined?
Every time I sink so low inside myself, I am more afraid of never coming back
and then I think...we will all just live and my organs, blood and bacteria
a big happy unhappy family
you say I poison myself. I don't. I just fall into my own gaps. Over and over again. 

Wednesday, June 15, 2016


It was raining all the way on my way to the piano bar
I was clumsily trying to balance a broken umbrella over my head and keeping my chest covered with my open collard slippery top
through the interstices, the warps and wefts of that struggle two sizeable raindrops fell through my collar and landed between my breasts
right where everyone fictionally points to as their heart
The fresh wetness of the droplets made me very aware of that part of my body as if waking it up
like splashing a few hundred cell-faces with water and I trembled
 “The way her body existed only where he touched her." Thought of all those times of caressing you or twirling my fingers around your hair, waking your skin up in places you wouldn't normally wake, like reassessing ignored parts of you as extra precious, like finding my way through you by drawing an invisible maze that i'd get lost in. that i'm continually losing myself in if not for the landmarks of a freckle here and a scratch there 
inside the piano man tickled the ivories and it sounded like warm icicles and I read nature philosophy
I thought of how vast we are and how small we exist