Monday, January 19, 2009

one night stand with james osterberg jr.

dancing like poison deep in his pores,
kissing collars of wool jackets,
scratchy lips meet a new warmth,
needling into my tongue.
sewing sound into my ears with dollar store twine,
pulling back and forth through my head,
pieces of brain caught in chunks
dragging on the fibers,
shaving his hair,
crumbling razors on his neck bleed rusty sap,
leaving his skull looking like a rotting musty pumpkin patch.

his body is tangled in tacky raffia folk art,
it chafes his skin when he wiggles around
trying to scratch at the hives under the sponge painted
bathroom border on his thighs.
chewing at his toes for comfort in the corner,
like a salty dog with a five week old fish slopping around it's mouth,
inside his saliva feels like gravel.

juice box in hand he slithered out the crack in the back door,
leaving the couch smelling of hungry men.
I doze off into sheets of frost,
that blanket the fields outside
melting into sun rays.

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