No good at it...

I can’t roll cigarettes very well.
My hands get too moist from nerves of light splintering and sparking in my mental space.
It’s distracting the hue is strong and it crowds me.
Don’t get the wrong impression; they’re not clammy, just sensitive.
It takes me by surprise; I never remember the way things are;
it took me a long time to remember that a kiss is soft.
Lips are not a hard surface.

Perhaps I have found myself in tune with the earth
with the shaking of a civilisation yet to come
their fists flagging within me a reminder of,
POTENTIAL.

So, I thought about my crumpled paper, post roll when you smiled the other night.
It’s noticeable now you’re getting on,
wrinkles
fine ripples like the ones between my sweaty fingers, sittting just above the cheek bone accentuated by
The Grin. The genius invention,
the mouth is my souvenir of humanity.
They are not lines fit for a piece of origami. Although I am rather fond of the way they fan in a semi circle.

So, the other night you stared and I shook.
You’re a pretty straight shooter.
You don't have pending history beneath you, rather you wear it in its tattered glory
leather splitting at the sides.
God damn I want a steady hand,
If I had a cigarette I’d have something to do, as it seems, we don’t really have much to talk about. You're lucky pal...that age often equals character. I've got nothing on you...no specfics to dirty the lens.
What is the internal civilisation trying to tell me?

Is there something interesting happening between you and me?

Hopeless Romantic

Your relationship with someone is 90% in your own head. On a good day, say 75%, leaving 25% for dynamic conversation and good sex.

It would be so much easier if we could just strip the skin.
Scrap it and intertwine bones. Because when you get that deep noises can’t lie.

Bone on bone is hot, primeval…
The noises we'd make would be nice and loud and drown out the tactless twang of the voices in our heads.

There’s no effort in romance because you’re in a sense wining and dining yourself. You choose your own underwear, you check yourself out in the mirror before and after a shower. You think about them the way you like.

Bones in Bed

Last time we laid down together I could feel our rib cages intertwine. Our bones had never touched before. The noise was tactless, a twang that made us both grin.

I kept looking at you and you asked me What do you know?
I knew then and there that people are the most beautiful when they smile.

Mouth

I like to supply myself with a diluted sensibility.
I find it comforting to know I can get as wet as I want.
Consider my surprise when I awoke to find myself strapped for time and dripping.

I wasn’t making something out of nothing, the mirror reinforced I was soaked through.
I’d slipped and fallen in.

I didn’t splash?
A SPLASH: it sounds far too good for how this felt. A splash is clean and pleasant looking.
I smashed!
A SMASH: it may look good, but it sounds horrible.

***

I am very wet and all I can think about is your mouth and I keep listening to the song you lip-synced two lines of in front of me.

Have I fully realised the significance of the mouth? Well, let’s not kid ourselves, your mouth. Yours isn’t like what I imagine Mrs Darlings to be, a hue soft and graceful hovering over her face.
Yours doesn't need to glow, you know it’s there and words curl out of it beautifully. They are words free to move because they are shaped with purpose.

Your mouth. I want it.

The movement, your lips are shifting my sensibility. Just like the day when my brother’s voice broke. Everything is a lower register, a thicker consistency, a longer beat.

Definition

pur⋅vey⋅or 
1.
a person who purveys, provides, or supplies: a purveyor of foods; a purveyor of lies.
2.
Old English Law. an officer who provided or acquired provisions for the sovereign under the prerogative of purveyance.

The Situation

DON'T SAY NO.
Nope-pa it’s got to be yes.

GET EMPTY.
Attention: To all hoarders, you can not expect to survive in such circumstantial circumstances.

PLEASE KEEP CALM.
Life as a vessel will make everything more tangible, right?

CASE IN POINT.
I went to a party; I didn’t eat dinner to get myself in the mood, because you require that hungry feeling. I could feel missing out hiss out of the cushion as I sat down, away from everyone. My eyelashes scratched the air as I closed my eyes.
Just as young children don’t like bath time; I don’t want to stop watching.
In the dark I am taller, I’m my shadow.
The darkness is useless to me.
I've learnt to never trust the line: "I'm not going anywhere".

SEIZE THE DAY.
I guess…