no definition

I had a dream. I was sat in a meeting, one of those interminable ones which rises and falls in it's pace like a wheezing breather of a porcupine inside a brain. My head wanted to explode. You came and stood behind me. I leaned my head back and slightly to the side, resting against you. I felt an immense sense of relief, reassurance. My eyes were wide open but I was blissfully at ease inside my head. Your hand was on my shoulder, then my hair. Suddenly you ran off to talk to some secondary three students. The pounding in my head came back; and an emptiness.

Emptiness, inky and vast, in which the moon hung like a guillotine. Weightless, we watched it from a porthole on the side of our spacecraft. You had on huge glasses, like Marcie from Peanuts. I said, what are you doing with those glasses? You turned and left the roomy module. I felt as empty inside as the huge raging vacuum outside.

half her tongue was a circuit board pt II

You had a sister. Twelve years old. She looks a bit like you did when you were younger. You dislike her. Maybe because she reminds you of yourself when you were twelve.

She wears a bandanna or scarf around her head, I don't know whether she knows that you did too back then. It is called the PAM style now. I have no idea what PAM stands for. You can't stand that she does it, you think she does it to aggravate you, but you're not sure.

Yet it is impossible to make her stop. Telling her to stop wearing her hair PAM-style only makes her want to do it more. Telling her it's nice is affirmation. Doing it too would be the only solution, but that's not fashionable, and risks backfiring into her hands - maybe that's what she wanted all along.

Maybe it's better that it was a dream, and that you don't have a kid sister twelve years old.

half her tongue was a circuit board

and when our tongues met I felt cold quicksilver run down my spine.

I believed then what she told me, that part of her body was electronic. I believed then that the other part was organic. I believed then that she was the reincarnation of my sister, copied on her design.

I knew then that I would make it with her, here as she straddled me in this wooded clearing.

in medias res

when he opens the door, you are on top of me in the chair, straddling me, open legged brazen vigorous and lovely. the door closes, and my fingers are still clutching your behind while you dismount me, unhorsing or getting off the saddle like a practised rider in fluid movement to pick up your shorts. your demeanour says you know what it means to fuck. but in my mind i know you know nothing of it; not that i know of anyway. in my mind's eye it is your first time.


why would you even be here though, on me in my chair gracing me with your body... you'd never give me the time of day or look at me. it must be a dream, this vision i have. your dream. you wake into the dream, inexplicably already on me, feeling me inside you, rocking you you rocking me. else i would never have you. i invade your dream, to stand any chance of invading your body or heart. how else could we get to the scenario, after all. i have to hijack a dream to make your hips rock and rotate on me. maybe you'll like it. maybe you'll be overtaken by sensation and forget what kind of loser i am.

maybe i just want the image: you in a t-shirt naked from the waist down, legs spread wide riding, round firm cheeks bucking in my hands either fast or slow, head turned to one side overshoulder to look at the open door lips just parted. you are shouldered, athletic and long, toes pointed to the ground, the t shirt that you wear is small, any t shirt you wear always emphasises your youth and longness. maybe i want that image, which even if it ever happened i could never see. you rise off me like the truth: that i could never have you.

but i want it, want to feel you bucking me like a bronco, deep inside you feeling you feeling me clutching you, feeling your weight on me and kisses fast and sweet, your small breasts bouncing and a t-shirt that only emphasizes your nakedness and which i'm going to remove any second.

maybe it's a wake up, even if we got anywhere close you'd wise up and get up get going before i got to complete anything, i'd never get to the heart attack intensity of coming inside or slipping out and pushing your head down mouth open baby your reluctance subsumed under my abandonment.

i pray it's a sign, a hint, a pheromone signal that your body betrayed the last time i breathed your air. a sign, that you are not as innocent as you should be, not as unschooled unlearned unphysical as i think. every woman has a secret history of lovers, if your history has started already perhaps it could deign to include me; but i will hate every one before me, even though i may reap the benefit of them having lowered your standards to accept me.

i can pray or imagine or wish but it means nothing, in the middle of things.

choose your own misadventure

him: I can't have you - but even if I can't, I'll never allow anyone else to have you.

her: I will destroy my self, abusing it to spite you.

him: How dare you.

her: [fill in the blanks yourself]

kinesis

I ride up and down in glass elevators all day to feel like i'm going somewhere.

two broken hearts won't beat any less

You can talk but I won't listen.

Anew

I hate growing up.

unambiguous

Give your first time to me.





Or,

Give it to me. The first time.

What happens in a missing week

She held me in the palm of her hand the whole time.

"I wake up in the morning and you're wearing my clothes"

I want to see you in my t-shirt.

fallen

I failed you when you needed me most.

cliched, but true.

He loves her, she doesn't know he exists. She looks through him, even when they are looking at each other.

oleanna or elecktra or humbert

Pay attention, in class. To me.