out of body

Your  glass is always half empty,  whiskey the color of your eyes when you are aroused.   I shut my eyes and fixate on the whir of the overhead fan. When you reach for me  I turn away, practicing  my out of body art, I look down from above until my eyes close.  Later we share a hand rolled cigarette, silently  watch  the curls  rise and rip apart in the blades.  Your soft eyes ensnare me, expose my liability.  It is so easy to distract you, pulling back the sheets we laugh,  make love and pull away.  Your eyes are the sparkle of stardust,  a boy at the top of a Ferris wheel.    I swear to  not meet again  but my heart is a red sports car racing along a razor’s edge.

 

art by Fabian Perez

the Sad Cafe

In a  sad cafe  where poems die

we sit near a window,

watch lovers vanish into scenarios

where we promise to meet them.

Still, we  remain here

cutting our ink into impassive tables

holding on to  fading lovers.

Secrets speak over absinthe and

cigarettes, tinkling spoons, and lusty moans,

those trespassers of life we cling too.

When the smoke clears we will spend

our  hours writing to ourselves.

 

 

Man lighting Cigarette II

art by Fabian Perez