Amusements

Receding thoughts that we emulate,
like conversationalists,
disastrous neurosis, insofar we loathe compromised,
with morning sex and daydreams of regress.
The scenarios once made up,
once gave celebrity status to our recent attachments,
find it on the notch of our bedframe,
as a reminder, that nothing last longer than the salutations of the actual moment,
time slows down when we recollect a time it once happened,
we can harness the once felt memory,
and emotions,
experience is drawn further away from our memory,
and there’s room for change,
and emotion, motionless,
we may feel,
and only wholesome thoughts come into play,
we’re not so much dismissed by the inconclusive, but the entrenched factors,
that smokey rooms entail,
when we’re not physically there,
just text me when you get home,
and I’ll trust myself to not,
break the sentences with misspelled cursed words,
I’ll send you a thank you and a nice to know that you still think I’m the best you had.

Morpheinial

 

Your mind
speaks to me in the way the sunspots,
cancerous,
to the darkest pupils of entranced eyes.
Injected like morphine,
your soul seeps into the soft tissues of
my skull and the muscles constricting
while you’re puncturing round after round of poisoned virtues,
heavily loaded in the heaviest of pallidness,
laying on a hospital bed,
I’m clenching for balance as my soul’s levitating from the soil.

Connection

Within a connection, within.
Everytime she blinks, I see it in my peripherals and I think she’s taking a glimpse of her man.  I’m hers, but right now the music playing is hers and I’m solely her vessel, the waveshaper manipulating the essence of an aural beginning, and present.
Everytime she turns her head, I want to relieve her mind for that fraction of a second and answer all the questions she’s ever had, or grasp that one meaning that’s she’s been looking to explain..hmm..what’s another meaning for a ‘connection within?’
Everytime she looks at me I feel my soul delineate and she leans in for a kiss.