spittlerattle

stuff i write

Month: May, 2015

Amourgeddon

Part 1

Ignore me. Love poetry isn’t my forte. Emotion via words often equals silence. I steal my best lines from Rimbaud or Baudelaire and then I mess it up with science. Or philosophy. And look where that’s got me!

Arguing from analogy will be the death of me, tut, I know, but my feelings are a-flutter, so I beg you, just this once, to let it go.

What’s love feel like?

Sometimes I want to cry when I look in her eyes but, at the same time, she brings me to life. It’s a blended tea of oxytocin and adrenaline. Damn,
there, I did it again.

Her kisses are sublime.

I want her all the time. She shakes me until every atom vibrates,

then takes me.

Actually an analogy may be beyond me. I feel like I’m experiencing something new; beginning, like a revelation; gasping, desperate, clinging;

Existential self-preservation.

Horny for days just watching her walk up corridors.

Stroke her hair, read her stories; crush her to me, elicit moist noises. I want to give her what makes her happy despite my inadequacy.

Part 2

Stood outside your door
Waiting for your smile:
I was thinking
That,
For snow,
This was as good as it gets. Y’know?

– fluffy flurry, no slushy trouble, brightening bone-bitten branches,
Silking the street with clean pages –

Was perfect.

Until

One

Unique
Flake
Melting into your hair.

Part 3

Greatness grates
The tetchy teeth and jarred jaws
Tight
Smileless
Kissless
Polite but lipless.

Birthday sleeps:
I full of edgy sexy
Compexity,
And the creeps.

I would loose me in her deeps,
And lose my senses
In her densityness.

Which matters

As a force of nature
Takes her and shakes her.

Mustn’t wake her.
Mustn’t wake her.

Advertisements

Haunted by John Cale’s angel

A halo of hormone harmonics vibrating me a hole in the string and sonics.

I have become hurdy gurdy.

My gangly gait is
A bait to the beat,

Or the metal plate in my head is picking up schitzy creeps off the fillings in my teeth and is projecting it into the street.

I swear I hear it

Even over the unheard cacophony and tinnitus

I ooze scrapey strings.

I’ll brings the rats out.