Tag Archives: original verse

Good Enough for Tonight

You’re not great
but you’re good enough for tonight.
You can’t see truth in fiction
and that just rubs me wrong
but in this moment of notice
I don’t care as long as you
rub me raw.

God, I can fucking hate you.
It’s so easy to hate you,
pretentious twit with the
false idea you have something
to prove.

God I can’t stand it. Not
for very long. Just do
what you want and I’ll
get what I want just
as long as you leave,
I’d rather you not stay.

You’re picking scabs
I didn’t know where there.

And I’m not even sorry,
I don’t expect you to be,
but your sex wasn’t great,
but I didn’t figure you’d be.

You’re not great.
You’re not even good enough
to stay, so I’d rather you leave.

You asked me for words.
I laughed in your face, I’ll
give you these words at the
end of this song to go and
kindly fuck off.

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Near Midnight Song

She kissed his neck, where pulse met skin.

‘You are alive.’

‘Yes I am,’ his statement struggled with short laughter that puffed out in two breaths.

‘And one day you will not.’ No answer came from he, neither movement nor word.
‘And I have you for this moment.

How wonderful is that.’

Counting Down

Feed me to the dogs of Forgotten Hell
Count to 30 behind closed eyes
send my remains in rags – nothing else
matters more no longer now.

Count to 20 behind closed eyes.
Where are we and who am I
no longer can the Fates disguise. Hear
the shuttering speed of my mind’s divide –
attention held but dropped and bruised
throughout Rejected Time.

Count to 10 behind closed eyes.
A dream tonight given to a blind mind
and how I dare to dream you close
and remember the poses so of two bodies
greatly intertwined.

A Disgrace by Armrests

Oh, how nice it feels
may I confess, a moment
of warmth as your
leg casually leans
on my thigh.

My dear, we sit an
armrest apart, and
between the seats a
war blooms, yet
the skies remain clear
as long as you continue
to touch me so.

Alas, the play,
I do so repent. Forgive
me muse for not playing
my part to appreciate
the outward displays of art.
But you must understand, I beg
you please, to find in your
gracious hearts to forgive me
with my dear.

Grace his body with a
graze of my hand.
Noble art, is this.
Divine meditation to
lie with my heart.

Forgive my mind, imagining
ahead of time as at
the present of space, our
bodies divided but by his
simple touch.

A Quiet Manifesto

Are these the moments
that we look back on,
weary with age?

Of the growing nerves,
of the sleepless nights
filled with thoughts
and scenes that star only you and me?

To talk without words
yet I still hear your
voice within the rooms
of my mind, when nary
a sentence from
you to me has been seen.

Will these be the days
that I look down on,
high from age?

Oh dear, hold me
close to these moments
of unimagined, uninhibited
bliss that your written
words once sent cause
yet.

Of counting down the days
which turn down into hours
before I can see your form
once more.

But with the hopes
and highs, the lows
naturally match.

A quiet manifesto
of me following you.
A quiet manifesto
of lovers’ parts
and how they play.

Of turns and falls
when fear to fall
is at the forefront
of the heart –
whether the play will
continue or stall
is yet unknown.

But for now the feeling
is known from at least
one part who owns a guarded heart,
that I want this quiet manifesto
of falls and turns,
of parts and plays,
of matching paces and winding days,
that this play marches on.