Are we really lonely if there’s two of us though?
She found wind in your soul and called it home
"It’s true that fresh air
is good for the body”
and as she skips between lungs
caressing lips, noses
inhaled, exhaled into fragments
cusped between perfect strangers
she whispers "this is our body"
Sorry for the inactivity. School’s been in a for a week now and I’m scrambling to get things done. Posts will be queued up tomorrow. Thanks for sticking around, all you lovely people out there. You keep me working hard.
Seeking solace in another’s arms,
But failing there as well,
A prostitute was hired,
Who had no charms,
Which ruined the entire point,
Because trying to feel better,
By having sex with basically,
A very large beanbag chair,
Will have you looking for the nearest bridge,
Or my name,
Well, that doesn’t matter.
Her hips swayed
Like they were riding ocean waves
Her eyes sparked
With the hunger of lightning
Looking for something to strike
Her fingers traced shapes into my skin
As if it were made from sand
Her designs felt deep enough
To stir something within
Her voice was warm
Inviting as a lagoon
A tempting escape from the mundane
And she gave me the confidence to jump in
With the way she said my name
Her tongue and lips
Rolled across my body
Gently as the water does
As it cleanses the shore
But accentuated by teeth
As if I needed something more
But her song was that of a sirenThis was submitted to me by astrangerlikeyou. Check out his work.
Sweet, and overflowing with lust
Meant to lure those who brave her sea
From the safety of their ships
Into their watery graves
Into the palm of her hand
And she called it love
the four people i met in gate 7 -
i. this guy is pretty zen. he has a hemp neck rest and wears a bandana around his neck. they don’t let him on the plane due to public intoxication. he calls his wife and sounds not-so-zen.
ii. she’s stuck on a long layover and can’t stop complaining about it. she hates waiting as a sensation of suspension. her life is probably more dynamic than mine. the wheels on my suitcase slip on linoleum from unuse.
iii. he’s visiting his daughter for the first time in ten years. shows me a picture that’s worn at the corners and creased down the side from sitting in his wallet. it’s dated 1999. beautiful girl. i ask him what’s the occasion for the trip? funeral he says, beginning to shudder and sob. not much to say about this, but if there’s a god out there, this man deserves an apology and god better fucking come groveling.
iv. she’s like me in an alternate reality where my life is harder and i care a lot less about things that don’t matter. she tells me social justice isn’t just another medal for your trophy cabinet. i say i know. she warns me that writers care about aesthetics more than they are about causes. she asks if i i have a cause worth dying for.