the tarp of my tired eyelids has unfolded into
twitching white lights,
and you are lining me up,
lining me up so that
i’m not in love or alive
but i’m still wide awake and writing,
wide open and singing.

and i’ll eat you up or take you away somewhere,
just you,
because i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing
and we’re fucking freezing.

but i like it out here,
our flesh frosted with cigarette burn snowflakes,
forcing our skin off so that
we’re the most naked fantasies of ourself in this
warthog world of bastard kings and dead things.

and i’m tired,
but i’m not exhausted in these dark nights,
with forests growing in my ears
so i can’t hear anything you are saying,
like where the fuck we’re going or
where the fuck we’re stopping
so that i can quench my thirst
or lean over puking
and then
pursing
my lips together so that you can’t tell how intoxicated i am,

because its easier to just kiss you when i don’t have to think about
what we mean by any of this body movement
and tongue sharing
and shit.