One-hundred and Ninety-nine: Beer-mat Poem

You smell like youth:
laundry, hope and naivety.
This is a cold shower on a summer night;
lightning before the storm.
Did you know I have eighteen freckles on my nose?
He didn’t.
He never wanted to count them.
You’re so readable.
You’re so mysterious.
I always get everything backwards;
right words, wrong face.
Want to race me to a broken heart?
I draw the ace of clubs all the time
as I dance to diamond songs.
I know every word.
This is a spinning wheel;
a rainbow of dysfunction.
Do you want to fuck me?
I am just a taxi.
Do you know how much I charge?
Two dollars per load.
So, how about a ride?


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

2 thoughts on “One-hundred and Ninety-nine: Beer-mat Poem”

  1. im quite impressed
    when i read those lines i was deeply plunged in the red starlight of your beautiful feet…
    think i see myself in your poem but i may be wrong
    but then again i need to identify in something these days
    you seem to have a sense of humour à la cohen
    so, readable or mysterious? do you want to discuss it over a glass of wine?

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