I just want someone to sleep with in both ways. Someone with whom a love can grow happily – with neither one of us shouldering more burden than the other. I don’t want to labour or suffer for you. I want to easily please you and to be easily pleased in return. In you hands, I want to feel my restlessness lift away and leave me. I want to exercise vulnerability and not resilience. I want to feel no restraint, only joy, as I lie with you fondly and feel gladdened by your heavy presence, your lion-gentle breath.
Thanks for your presence,
I reach out to you and you pour attention and “love ya”s my way,
I love when you’re happy and when you’re not I wish for better for you and let you talk about the same things and I’ll never mind that.
The same things come up even in a life of dynamism,
In a life of stasis, the same happens so thanks for listening to my sameness too.
There’s no pressure to speak if we don’t want, just your general presence in my box of treasured people makes me glad.
I sew myself together with silky ribbons,
I embroider my outside and in,
I deserve sequins and pretty buttons, so I sing in the bath,
Because it’s soothing
Because I like my singing voice
Because I enjoy the melody and the feeling of creation.
Take this bit – it’s me, just a bit. Of me. Just a bit. With this bit we can make something else, if we add it to your bit and give it a place to live.
Sky of night, Lined and Chequered emptiness, Filled with things that have matter but don’t matter. Vast ocean, rolling waveless, churning possibilities in the minds of the tiny, Tiny bodies look for other tiny bodies in the black. Little people who feel so big -Share my tiny life with me.
balderdash scraped away
hiding underneath is red and squishy
rolling in the fibres
hiding underneath, wiped out
fingermarks through the sawdust
and i see your eyes beneath
and i hold you and we sleep
that grass-roots feeling of loss
that cliched unsaid unfinished shiz
that heart-worm burial
that digging notion of things gone wrong
the unfixable memory convoy that won’t leave and parades up and down my mind
aisles and the corridor’s tight and the squeezing march grates on the sides and drags
me down with it
that corn fed turd that is you
a handprint on my psyche
a snow angel on my lawn