50 tiramisu-s.
dance with a cane and a pork pie trilby to jingly jangly pop. go on.
art and loathing are slowly becoming synonymous. sleep lies deprived. white lights flash and flicker, sometimes bearing faces. a whisper of existence from worlds of love-too-late. shake it all away. agh!
i want a soft warm waking up world. curves and slithers and stretches of tarmac. the backs of his hands. the upmost point of his cheekbone, coarse slide to the lips. my rugged, resplendent gentleman-boy.
i slipped the cravat into the red wash so we could sing,
party on the sly.
friday night.
is ours.
(mine. alone. on a bench. drinking special brew.)
art and loathing are slowly becoming synonymous. sleep lies deprived. white lights flash and flicker, sometimes bearing faces. a whisper of existence from worlds of love-too-late. shake it all away. agh!
i want a soft warm waking up world. curves and slithers and stretches of tarmac. the backs of his hands. the upmost point of his cheekbone, coarse slide to the lips. my rugged, resplendent gentleman-boy.
i slipped the cravat into the red wash so we could sing,
party on the sly.
friday night.
is ours.
(mine. alone. on a bench. drinking special brew.)