This City

In this city people talk in a walking sleep, head to the floor, chattering, clanking, clacking bores. Their jaws to feet, little sheep with pavement sounds, around and around, smoke sucking in lucky dollar bills and sin. Trying thrills for odd looks to kill friends don't know love won't own any inside walls crawling home to roam, lost costs sanity humanity. In this city people talk in a walking sleep, head to the floor, chattering, clanking, clacking whores.

I Found You

We met on the script of a tea stained paper trampling footsteps of ink and scattered fingerprints. I traced you on blank beds of word, catching letters as we spoke, drawing hearts within the sheets and coloring outside the lines. The book begins to burn as we pretend to set fire to the sun scribbling lightning strikes in black wind, crumpling our story in patterns, doodling secret notes and love letters tied in rope until they blow away.

Cold legs parting for wrists watching submissive lips pouting the buried blessed hips swinging playground sandbox dirty empty and gone.