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Et Tu, Booté? *Recovered* by Jesse Printer Friendly

I was looking into your eyes the other night

across crayon sketches and empty saucers

while my peripherals filled with your curvature

like some crude perceptual meniscus in the test tube of my attention

put to the test, indeed, with that low cut shirt of yours.

Jesus, look at 'em.


We talk for awhile

of this and that

I've been there/You know her?/That's crazy.


Back to your place, the nesting grounds

where you feel safe

where the art hangs a little crooked

and all the smells are foreign to me

and your neighbors are watching Battlestar


We have more wine and sit close

I've never felt so at ease either, it's crazy

You know I like to watch you drink wine?

It's stupid, I know, but your eyebrows go up when you take a sip.

Like each gulp is a pleasant surprise

And your lips are a little more red

and that smile of yours. What.


Then sometime in the morning I'm looking around in the light, new light.

The scene is all different outside, but everything inside still feels

like I swallowed a wad of Dr. Scholls.

Just sort of dense and tight, where I'd hoped for a little more comfort.

You're still you and I'm still me

and I don't know what I was looking for anyway

So I push the hair out of your sleeping eyes

and I watch the weather channel on mute and I think

simultaneously

your face is so soft

30% chance of rain.


(originally posted 2013-07-31 03:24)


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