Glasses of Diatribes

I can fall in love. I can fall in love with what is true and trying and with scum and 70 year old would have been lovers and old ladies and young boys and people hitting notes, speaking in tongues. 

Before I die, I’d like to feel the burn of hot wax scald my skin.  I want to feel nails tear me open and blood trickle across. I want to make you disappear so I can pounce inside you and taste your taste in my mouth. To make you grumble like a train when you play and fit inside me.  I want to be a spider’s home.  A web weaved and nested just for you.

What conversation between notes, instruments, to communicate beyond where words have learned to reach. Picks work like paint brushes and when you pluck their strings I can feel the bristles sweep across me. Strumming hard with the corn on your thumb, I love you. I want to press my body against you.  White wine an excuse for confessions and commitments and commissary, camaraderie, constant, continuance, corruption and so forth!

"No!"

"Not here!"

"The wine is too making you-"

"Me?"

"Yes, you!"

Silhouetted water towers in a periwinkle sky, you thump tomorrows forever, and there’s nothing misty about you.  You had a fantasy about me. I’ll call you tomorrow and find out.  Update: Nothing with orifices, just a conversation over breakfast the next morning in the kitchen. Sunshine streaks across smoke and me so you smile and nickname me Paisley. 

I feel the feelings swarm around us when you blow smoke past my face and I laugh with wine stink and stained breath into yours; not caring, because I know whatever I do, you’ll love me so.  I can feel your fingers wanting to press indentations into me. I want to feel love without fear that it’s going to leave. I want to know you love me, not just because attention from youth is more than what you’re now used to.  

A face young and bright, shiny still with pimples even.  I know you want to kiss my grease and puss and lips and have me dilate around you.  Haha! Skin sags and we write lovers off because of the publicity gap.  You've got eyes like marbles I want to roll around with. Ha! Oh! If they only knew the terraces I’d sit out with them on.