Tuesday, April 14, 2009

strangler in the mist

I caress your scent in the middle of the night
cars and loud boys below my window pass by on Broadway
dust and grime of dirty New York City slowly invade my room
in the darkness like a phantom in fog

my fingertips feel the skin of your back
my fingers the curve of your spine
I can smell you, a soft remainder
soft to my lips is the skin of your neck
soft is your tongue to my tongue,
you're inhaled in your absence
hard up in a cot that I've made for my bed where
crooked springs are my constant companions

I breath mostly in
I touch myself, as I touched you
your pink stiff soft flesh
warm in my hand a lifetime ago
in the soft pink light
in my only room
in the world
my turtle home
 
lit up by flashing headlights streetlights and sirens
is my dark room...wait,
Is that a breath, a sigh, perhaps a moan a whimper
caught in between the sounds of slick tires and choking motors
that come like a crash of waves?

specter of my sentiment...you ghost of my haunt
you strangler of breath.
I want to keep it easy,
getting it to keep,
now... that's not so easy

it is the absence of your smell that hovers most...
strangler you choke me out of sleep
and in the wake I know that
I am for myself what you wont be for me.

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