I wish I felt like this more often. 3:06 AM and I have forgotten for a moment what tomorrow holds. It feels like I could do anything.


Sadness, drips, cold sweat.
Puddle, shower, drips, wet.
Hang head, switch off,
Hang on, rinse off
Who you were when you
stepped in
Make you new when you
step out.


Half good, half toasted.
Mostly full, mostly bloated.
Tomorrow I’ll try again,
and I’ll miss being
easy to talk to
in the morning.


I like things that sound
like Dreamscape,
Semi consciousness, like a
Utopic autopilot
Flow, like rap, like
people who just
access a truthful part
of the human heart.


3:20 AM.


Forehead to the ground,
curled into myself,
you are surrounding me
like a tortoise shell,
spread over my back
like a parachute.

I am tepid water,
stagnant and stale.
You are a spring
that overwhelms,
like light cutting through
a musky room.

You are a whisper,
a lilt, a shiver,
when I stop wrestling
and let myself sprawl.
Tell me who you are:
My Yours, truly.


The stench of sweaty pits,
my stained black shirt in exchange
for spoilt grey sheets.
Liquid feelings,
I left unsatisfied,
a little bewildered, and
a little inspired by brief flashes
of pleasure –
born of your ardent devotion
to the impossible challenge.
Tit for tat,
make up for the first time
when I wanted it to stop and he didn’t.
Your perfect teeth remind of the first
set that grazed my nipples.
You are a do-over of a night
of unresolved tensions,
uncannily familiar, unspooling.
My body refused what my heart confuses:
an entangled love with thrashing legs,
it knew, it knew.
I could’ve taken the couch instead
but I wanted you to ask me to [stay]
come to bed.