i swallowed all of your words and i still was empty
i still was starving and weeping
about nothing much just loneliness on sunday nights
i don't even know what loneliness is but don't tell me you don't fucking feel it
chamber music and brains that are all mush
no substance
that's opposite of what i found in you and i can't find you i don't know where you are
i put my tongue in your ear and my body came along
your mind is a maze and the exit is your mouth
that's the only place i've ever wanted to be
i can't see you
there are so few people i want anything to do with
but i probably want you in general
and i want and i want and i don't have and i have
you're gripping my calves and i am naked by the window
goosebumps touched by other goosebumps
submersed in joy that will end too soon
ruined by the thought that anything could be forever if we never left this room
why are our limbs so eager to carry us out the door?
always so dead, so numb from no motion in the morning
when in the night our legs were explorers, restlessly searching for the next pleasure.
treasuring every second of cold skin perfection
and every moment of pressure from thumbs between collarbones.
i pick the dirt out of my nails so i don't reminisce in our outside escapades
then i regret it because i don't know if you're real when we aren't together except for those small nothings.
everything is so wasted
so bleak and monotonous and tiny
like heartbeats. they aren't powerful, they're pathetic.
a beat means nothing when you're all used up.
i'm so sorry for all of us.
i'll wear my favorite sweater just so you can take it off.
only long enough to feel your hands making marks
they fade to fast and i left hours ago
i'm thinking about you, though.
Poet Douglas Kearney and composer/producer/drummer Val Jeanty link up for a a compelling LP that feels like the written word come to life. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 30, 2021