the end

i want to burn my fingers

i want to lick your lips

its sensory overload season

and all i can see is your pale tallness

seeping from my view

i skipped the meeting, 

i don't want to move up there

can't a woman be content 

sitting naked with her friends,

hanging on branches

in the allusion of a tow

we all know each other

dwell in each other's arms and beds

and the same kitchen table

we are the food that sustains us

and the sunshine in our throats

i'm a seadoo in your saliva,

swallow please

i'd rather be inside

but for now you are my think thumb

i'll write down the name of everyone i love, 

need, desire and collect them

in the corners of my skull,

morbid and lovely alive

write paint and sing to them

everyday, for because of them i.

you're close as grey

i feel you and you sound like

'hi, how are you?'