0fu (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} 0fu) wrote,@ 2004-03-31 15:45:00 |
|
predawn (grey) oceanside
you're h(a)unched, side of my barstool, too old for any's good,
i smell of you.
water takes its pennance from even the newest beachfront abode.
awash
an infintessimal waft of decay
rafters rot away, invariably
("just look at the windows!")
but this, awake
(you always make me sleep, human and contented)
fingers rake the banister
this early morning pj mug of tea thing
its makes the artiface
the whole kaboodle
of such starcrossed architectural ideals
worth it.
every bit of wasted mortar
that sloughs oh so gently to the sur
just for this
a background set for my idolotry
predawn jitters, the taste of rain,
eden and a carrot stick.
will 1 not go just because its been done?
... a lot is underfoot (afterall...)
hip slant, legs perched, just so
the possibility of rythm
a sublingual attentivness triger
that benegeserite schtick
does this just happen
for thee to be arranged just so?
iconographic glory
& cultivated estrogen
static cling, kitten paws
permeant
the breakfast nook overlooking the veranda
and the encroaching dawn.
is it a role bequeathed by some astute director
or just the remanants of you seething behind a mortal shell?
& i know you wait for dawn
and I'm as quiet as possible
winding down helix stairs
rickety from shifts in se(n)timent
but all cracks, creaks and pops therin
have, in these last few days, been so accounted
and my descent is as silent as allowed.
i know you appreciate the effort
and the time lent by an extended entry
to prepare for another in your periphry.
i think thats why you lay it down on me
a smack-down slatherering that can but be remembered when recovering from stuper.
just to get a moments peace
i told you i didn't sleep
and you seem to prove me wrong repeatedly.
but i readily admit to selfishness
a lack-a-daze
i watch you wait for dawn to break
when you'll cup the mug
absorbing warmth through chalice spread fingers
and alight, no sound or wasted effort,
pad to the window and absord a moment's solace.
(i know you best here, an icon left to ache you're absense)
it doesn't even phaze you i find the ritual fascinating,
it lends you power, solidity.
these chance meetings
random hints as precursors
where do you come from-
some girl-fuzz nebula constructed to facilitate this ache?
and as my bare feet touch bottom i know why captains of industry are such s&m freaks,
you're h(a)unched, side of my barstool, too old for any's good,
i smell of you.
water takes its pennance from even the newest beachfront abode.
awash
an infintessimal waft of decay
rafters rot away, invariably
("just look at the windows!")
but this, awake
(you always make me sleep, human and contented)
fingers rake the banister
this early morning pj mug of tea thing
its makes the artiface
the whole kaboodle
of such starcrossed architectural ideals
worth it.
every bit of wasted mortar
that sloughs oh so gently to the sur
just for this
a background set for my idolotry
predawn jitters, the taste of rain,
eden and a carrot stick.
will 1 not go just because its been done?
... a lot is underfoot (afterall...)
hip slant, legs perched, just so
the possibility of rythm
a sublingual attentivness triger
that benegeserite schtick
does this just happen
for thee to be arranged just so?
iconographic glory
& cultivated estrogen
static cling, kitten paws
permeant
the breakfast nook overlooking the veranda
and the encroaching dawn.
is it a role bequeathed by some astute director
or just the remanants of you seething behind a mortal shell?
& i know you wait for dawn
and I'm as quiet as possible
winding down helix stairs
rickety from shifts in se(n)timent
but all cracks, creaks and pops therin
have, in these last few days, been so accounted
and my descent is as silent as allowed.
i know you appreciate the effort
and the time lent by an extended entry
to prepare for another in your periphry.
i think thats why you lay it down on me
a smack-down slatherering that can but be remembered when recovering from stuper.
just to get a moments peace
i told you i didn't sleep
and you seem to prove me wrong repeatedly.
but i readily admit to selfishness
a lack-a-daze
i watch you wait for dawn to break
when you'll cup the mug
absorbing warmth through chalice spread fingers
and alight, no sound or wasted effort,
pad to the window and absord a moment's solace.
(i know you best here, an icon left to ache you're absense)
it doesn't even phaze you i find the ritual fascinating,
it lends you power, solidity.
these chance meetings
random hints as precursors
where do you come from-
some girl-fuzz nebula constructed to facilitate this ache?
and as my bare feet touch bottom i know why captains of industry are such s&m freaks,
