the door shut. and then there was silence. nothing but single lightbulbs whirring, a ticking clock, and white noise. it's lonesome as ears pick up the rumble of a car growing softer. wind still rustles through pecan tree leaves as the sun drifts further and further into a solitary yet peaceful rest. and heartbeat is the lullaby tonight.
sometimes i wonder if you'll turn around.
the car was still there when we returned from rock overlooking the city at dusk. and false moonlight radiated from lamps on tall poles to reflect in the spring water that licked at pebbled floor. tackled on the grass with you on top.
cristina and i immersed ourselves in art projects today. glue and razors and colored paper. not much speaking, but rather turning of pages, cutting of scissors, slicing of razors and internal beats coming from speakers.
-
dirty and wet
like
moist courderoy through the
washer cycle
spin and cycle and spin
slap against wall of metal
we grasp onto shards of people
who break with handling
and get sucked up into that jesus shit
who calls the shots as the clock
strikes one in the
morning after
-
why can't i be drowned in compliments? when we two affectionate and roll over to face to face. i want golden light surrounding.
i've been living on fruity pebbles.
i <3 my damion mason.