you make me hum
on my lips
between my legs
as cold blue laps
a little uncomfortable
lick of the toes.
in the quiet I creep
to the edge of a moment
where we fold into one another
on a sandstone ledge.
everything is as soft as you taste
as I wonder how someone like you
might like to be touched.
this is before I take offense
to lines that froth in strange shapes
to the crisp white sheet balled thick in my mouth
while a dweller makes tea
in the kitchen.
blunt teeth trace
slowly back from a gap
waiting for the ball to drop.
I can’t quite contain
a curiously concocted cage
of slow burning rage
concerning clean conjoined carriages carefully carrying commuters across Canada’s compass.
So smooth, so slick
the efficiency makes me sick
as I journey from North to South
a nervous tick clicks in my mouth.
I long for grungier days,
my transit romance hazy in nostalgic craze
a dirty, janky sister,
at times I could’ve kissed her.
the great equalizer of good and bad ways
she is a confusing sensory maze
endless misguided hopes
wrestling inside soon to be rejected folks
short shorts short skirts
worn by feverishly fuckable flirts
a carpet of revolting roaches and rats
capped by a ceiling of obnoxiously worn hats,
Sinuous smells of colour, crime and crooks,
It’s quite an excellent place to read and receive strange looks.
As far as I'm concerned, there is no better way to travel,
than the New York City Subway, a place to truly unravel.
Slipping out of socks and shame,
she dove in for an August wash,
quick rinse cold frothy salt rimmed shot,
obsessed with dripping residue
from sticky weighted thoughts of you.
Now on her back, hot sun beats down
upon her face, the day’s caress.
Tonight you brought me cherries
wrapping sweet dark juice,
beneath this tongue they melted so
divinely, swiftly, you were looking
outside at the dirt red pot,
soft kiss on lilac stems, oh
how I wished to lay things bare
just like a shag upon a rock.
The soft earth was red and wet
messy on her white shoes,
painted from the morning cries
of the grey skies above.
It was a long, bleeding trail
frayed banksia, wattle and bark
littered footsteps traced the remains
of an Australia from the past.
Orange beaks pecked in a row
antsy feathers in a flutter,
rainbow lorikeets hopped and danced
flitting along a fallen branch.
She wondered, how it might be
to sit here for the day,
among the trees and worms and thoughts
her breathing slow, her body cold.