Phantom pleasure firmly squeezes
As ghost fists grasp my slippery reminiscence
Like your gentle mind-hand brushing the glowing eye of my burning memory stove.
Yeah, that’s an Adventure Time reference.
It’s sewn un-seamlessly into the belly of my clumsy,
Vaguely pornographic poem–
a scary thing to put on paper
when I’ve read the wreaths of smoky swirls slung Tuesday into stanzas in an elegant portrayal of
a mind that sometimes
harms and haunts you;
A mind smoldering when it’s not clean on fire singing
Screaming flaming refrains.
Sometimes I think you see yourself as aftermath.
Largely crispy carbon remains the likes of which you’ve seen dug up
in the middle of nowhere
You probably even tasted it.
But I hope you see you’re green and leafy, wet and breathing
…though more of a shade loving fern -marked resilient on the care tag at the garden center- than an orchid…
*Next page, New pen*
Lubed with liquor that L word leaves our lips a little more lightly
But lingers on mine well into sobriety.
*Next page, Pencil*
I’ve been trying to finish this poem for months.
Maybe I don’t want to.