aftershocks

your tongue envelopes

me like

tsunami tidal waves;

everyone should run for cover.

 

the crest of your lips crash

on my lustful heart;

my emotions run for shelter.

 

the arch of your back

breaks the barrier

I built for my heart.

 

gripping the roots

of your hair

for dear life

only intensifies

the situation.

 

my depression can’t handle

the transfer of energy

you’re hurling at

my fragile self.

 

the aftershocks have

me booking one-way

tickets on stolen

maxed-out

credit cards.

 

there’s no return from you;

lifeboats are deflated,

I’m hoping to drown in the riptide,

so i can die on a high note.

 

-JDR-

leaning

i picked her up

at the travelling

circus

after-party

(yeah, there is such a thing),

 

lines off the

funny mirrors

 

carnie threesomes

 

cotton candy bushes

 

fried goods

 

we’re all part of the session

where we learned a valuable

 

lesson

 

that some things

shouldn’t be mixed

 

like whips, tigers,

and orgies

 

nor can they be won

by tossing

oversized balls

into undersized

jugs

 

or aiming syrup

at the

clown’s mouth,

 

testing my strength

consuming the weight

 

flopping around in the cage

 

down and out

and over the hill

 

put out to pasture

put out to pasture.

 

-JDR-

distractions and reminders

blinking lights everywhere,

notifications

flood my devices

like a 10.0 magnitude

earthquake

in the Pacific Ocean,

tidal wave sweeping

me away

into an abyss

of loneliness,

but i keep my head above water

looking for the next blinking light,

the one that is there to save me

from myself,

reflecting upon the last shot

of absinthe that took me to this spot

fortified by my hedonistic ways

and the security guard who is always there

to argue with the McDonald’s delivery guy

about the toppings on my Big Mac

and the sides I requested,

which she did without request.

lips and tongue

in spots

that are lovely

and fun.

i’ll just lay here on the patio,

smoking a cigarette

contemplating my next move;

living next to the homeless guy

sharing stories of a storied past,

with fancy socks, but

without fancy shoes.

we’ve been laced up

and tied together with ripped cloth

to remind us

of a life once lived.

-JDR-