best friends for keeps

this will be my last entry
i've shared too much already

la fin du monde

i'll
never
get sick of hearing the words
do anything you want to me

96

we're best friends
positioned at opposite ends
grabbing ankles
or spreading cheeks
is optional of course
it's what's in the middle
that really counts

(it's said that such a position can be awkward for partners of varying heights)

i call bullshit

i call commence

GOODNESS

MMM

a brief history of wasted time

saturday night at lee's palace
with kevin
when we walked in
liked we owned
the place
and forgot to pay
like kings
a random girl said
you have such cool hair
i said
thanks, i haven't heard that one before
she said
what?
what do you mean?
i said
you're pick-up line
it's unique
(wink)
she said
fuck you
i turned to the bartender and said
another 50!
please

hop, skip and a jumbo jet

she is 8403 nautical miles away from me
on a boat in the middle of the sea
with her best friends in the world
living the way it should always be
that's 9670 miles or 15,562 kilometers
away from me
at sea
when
even just one inch
between us when we sleep
is far too much for me
just ask her
go ahead
she's spent enough nights
pinned up against the wall
to concede
that i need her more than close

to image nuclei of atoms inside the body of romantic rights

i've been around (some)
i've heard it all (mostly)
and let me tell you (with a grain of salt)
toronto western hospital
has an MRI machine
that's louder than
toronto's death from above
any day of the week

sure
there's less melody
but more conclusive results
(let's hope)

to be
or not to be
invasive surgery?

that is the black history month question

either way
i miss DFA1979
almost more
than any practicality
my right knee
ever
served

you're a woman, i'm in an MRI machine

wearing the tokyo skyline on your face

if i could be anywhere
in the world right now
i'd be in the 52nd minute
of lost in translation
in the back seat of a taxi cab
i'd be a sleepy bill murray
and you'd be scarlett johansson
wearing the tokyo skyline on your face
we'd let sometimes
by my bloody valentine
take us the rest of the way
and i'd carry you to your room
slipping off your shoes
erasing the tokyo skyline from my face

adjacent balustrades

settled into our alcove
high above the sounds of revelry
exploring each other's anatomy
synched with the street lights
green red yellow gadgetry
our tongues write calligraphy
on pinkish fleshy upholstery
we tear all your hosiery
inappropriately
to tatters
proportionately
measured
by our all
enveloping
orgasms
we swallow the world

in a word: poetry

broken edison cylinder

daydreaming
of a phonograph
from 1877
with paraffin paper
strong enough
to reach you
in 2011

daydreaming
of a phonograph
from 1877
with paraffin paper
strong enough
to suck out
a response
from your otherwise
silent diaphragm

lovefuck

guttural pornography
starring me
and open mouths
fitting snug
and fusing us
starring her
guttural pornography
starring us
and open mouths

it would take a thousand pianos
a thousand years
to build a crescendo
even somewhat comparable
to this
and open mouths
to us
fitting snug

my little lovefuck

amen

when i was a young boy
i remember thinking
that girls were so neat
i wasn't sure what cooties were
but i knew even then
that i wanted some

alpha bravo charlie

this is my wingspan.

it's wide enough
to fully encompass
you.

it has
and it will again.

delicious.

this is my wingspan.

it reaches out
to fully envelop
you.

it did
and it shall again.

ambrosial.

when you touch down
i'm going to show you
the uncharted maps
of our atlases
at last.
i promise
you
that.

i'm going to reach for inches
that we knew were there
but we never really found.

this is my wingspan.

it'll devour your tiny frame.
it'll suck your breath
and pull you in.

as soon as
you touch down.

we'll touch everything.

mouthwatering