114 Readings | 0 Ratings
to our love affair
that fell down the stairs
and the pieces that remain
our stains on hotel bedsheets
a history in thread count
and egyptian cotton.
or the aurora borealis
like the names of places that don’t exist or your coca-cola perspiring in a swampland caravan of gypsy hyperbole i grow into you so slow root…
April 26, 2013
The trance continued in which / the saying was exchanging positions, / over and over, with the said. / It was a summons, a shock into / a long and…
More by W.M. Butler
on the last day of the rest of our lives
the skin hunger for you on me / is a slingshot into sunshine / our faces covered to god / our love a blank rhythm / in a cloudy silence / of…
blood in the water
i shrug off rust there is lust in my blood stream sweet marrow these narrow tomorrows relentless on my joints my figurative speech beaches whales…
brine and mist and fine foam
when i think of us i think of friction the minutia of / movement etching our corners smooth until there is no blood just the polished response of…
kill me please / i won’t tell a soul what you’ve done i won’t let the love come undone / if the measure of price is trust let maggots breed let…
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