My face is worn, rung out.
I bit my own tongue out.
I observe, dissect, speculate until I’ve siphoned all the fun out
From these suppers we take uptown,
Where we fought to live and get down.
Eat pasta at Gina’s while complimentary mouth sounds
Escape you, but I’m too weak
To ride sound waves. Don’t speak.
This afternoon felt like two weeks.
I wear soiled threads, shorts reek.
Lips chapped while eyes leak.
Glottal assertion, turned cheek,
Directionless, erection-less, it’s safe to assume that we’ve long since peaked.
I believe I need you, yet I refuse to read you,
And the more you grow the less I feed you.