Pull the Trigger Again

Within its’ walls the balance of the world contained: struggle, vigour, magic, and¬†ūüĒ•ūüĆä– casting all kinds of spells and garments across the room; I like the way you get down. Is there any time to breathe? If you come up for air, I might have to, I might have to, Bite your lip the way I do. Swaying in the night feeling your lip pulse, wondering if I’m a sweeterman as I commit you to memory

I kinda like you, girl, really wanna feel you,
I wanna feel you for real
We can do what you like. I promise then, I’ll be true.
I say I’m just an artist, she tell me that’s a fucking lie.
DaVinci-esque, everything is a dance, baby, if you’ve got this high.
Degas, the star honey, you’re my ballerina.
Do I make you want to dance real slow?
I got this money, baby. I want to spend it on you.
I got this Sunday, baby. I want to spend it with you
I got this money, honey. Melrose is more than a name.
I got these visions lady, when can I see you again?
Again
Again
Again

I wanna tell you everything, but everything just seems dumb
If I came up with a million dollar idea I wouldn’t even spend,
I got change like that, since none of it’s real.

Hard when I’m coming from a day dream,
I really like when you’re speaking that language,
That tongue got me swerving all angles,
Angel do you take me a fool?
Catch me banging you on the bathroom floor, the counter, the sofa, throw it in the shower, get it on camera
Stoic got me all discipline of assent,
Let me see who you are, what you represent,
Let me put you to the test;
Figure of speech!
And if it don’t serve then I got to put it down,
Put it down like a vice,
But I still got the grip;
Yeah I had too many last couple of nights
I may say fuck it, pull up, pull up on it, and put it down like this my last,
Touchstone cliche to say; Robin squeezed it out of the poets!
And I’m just here in my own moment
I’m here in my moment,
I got everything, decisions I’ve made,
I own it
I own it
Hands all on it
Yeah I got the grip
Drawing you like a well,
For water, for sweets
It’s not that deep, you’re right
But that’s not how I see it

For the first time I’m alive at your altar
Not sure of my verse, but it’ll
Drip from my mouth like honey

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I’ve Seen You Naked

It’s hard to express exactly what it is that people dig, but if you’re any sort of a risk taker you’ll soon find out.

She smokes a cigarette and it’s fucking gorgeous. I think one drag would kill me, but I’d stand close enough for her exhale to burn my eyes, and sound like totally uncool striking up a conversation while I’m clearly holding my breath waiting for diffusion and air flow to make the coast clear.

Wisdom of Grace

“I guess dirt is a good foundation for Green”
РGrace, On what comes before

Do not underestimate the power
of letting a fellow traveler
examine closely your thoughts;
the exchange of words in the old fashion.
Speak beautifully, construct the response,
and fear not being misunderstood.
The travel of two is always a blessing
to the journey — Like a fixed star,
these moments gift to your voice
some sort of guide along the road — Something to bounce ideas off of even if they don’t come back right away.¬†¬†Internally, perspective¬†stirs the concepts, it¬†stokes the flame; feeding¬†it when you thought you might be on your last log

Share the tastes, and pangs of life.
Even if it is dirt, you can both agree on that.
And what’s more, when it isn’t dirt…
you’ve both got something of a shared celebration!

 

We’re All gods of Love Here

Love, me lights out,
Burn the sky down
Love, me lights out,
Burn the sky down

Lure me back with waves
Pull me deep beneath the shades;
I think I’m below
Your neck is the road

Lull me you’re the eye,
Rati your sweet lips;
Oshun I beg for a drink!

Tales of the banquet–I’m drunk all over again
I’m there all one¬†again,
The first moon, the last full notebook

I’ve been reading your words,
And after all the pages,
Only the last virgin remains.

Imagine the last time I’ll be surprised at what you say
I don’t want to listen, what if I’m swayed,
at the end, with no more words to decide against.

Xochiquetzal, Clíodhna,
Take me on a way,
Lay me down at sea!
What vastness will I be

I’ chose you and you’re gone, and that’s ironic and cliche for a song


To be expanded

What Should Be Salvaged Of This Wreck

Feeling like a computer attempting to execute the commands, but something in the logic is stickingxxch

The question is not whether the ship can be saved, there is no confusion around this truth.
What we are here to determine is what of the ship should have an effort made in its case.
Of all the good, and the bad, what will best serve the survived in the years after descent.
Would the lungs¬†make the list if they weren’t intrinsic to the body?

Perhaps only what, by chance, climbs up on the sands nearby.

I think we can agree all of the collections hard earned, are perfect for the rite– A burning. Quick set the flames before any other decision is made. No moment to waste as we take on water, this won’t be complete without black skies and a warm asphyxiation. Now that things are a bit more pressing, take only what you need. Not what you want. Not what you love. Only what you need. If, when you find your way to shore, your hands are empty; you might consider yourself lucky. Washed clean of all the preconceived notions you had carefully crafted loop after loop, you can drink from the bottom shelf and feel no different.

You don’t want any drinks, but you will need one or two– just for the taste; clarity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be sometimes.