Thursday, June 21, 2012
By the time we hit our limit
we were already speeding.
Like whiskey that tasted of
old cough syrup, we were just
two different types of fucked up.
I freed our zippers and she yelled VIVA!
So we couldn't waste our breath.
Outside of the confines of flesh and time
her bed became a filthy mental asylum
of straight jacket bed sheets,
brown pillowed walls and
pill freckled floors.
As we bounced off each other
in a dim lit disco of wet friction
speeding through octaves
we enjoyed the rise and fall
of twin current mountains
and passed out, dismantled,
unable to paint over the evidence.