Alright, since iw ont be able to update this weekend, here is a synapsis:
Friday-class till 12, homework and clean the apartment all day and night,
saturday wake up aty my leisure, do homework, go to a show featuring the motha fuckin timmys. After show, party with the timmys, and then they will crash here along with my friend joseph.
sunday-wake up after near death experience of drinking WAY to much, then do more homework..sounds fun eh?
revised version of a poem I put ehre the other day:
Fake Counter Marble Top
As she grips that shining rod,
flexible, yet rigid, and puts her mouth
at its end, my heart begins to race.
And as she breathes in slowly
I feel air shift so slightly
around bare necks and forearms.
She teases the buttons, sliding
them through fabric slits,
and just before they slip, returning
them, teasing me into a decision;
but I wont give in that easy,
telling her what she wants to hear:
Ill make her wait, atleast
a moment longer.
and as our eyes meet, my hands
begin to slip, sweat covered on
that fake marble counter top;
moisture from our transactions nerves.
And I look up past her nose,
not knowing which eye to capture,
afraid of stopping time for that moment
when our eyes caught each others
that moment when all is silent
and still, and air becomes heavy.
And she begins to speak again;
first in a cracked breath, smoothing
out into that exasperated voice,
and she says, Fries or onion rings?
Friday-class till 12, homework and clean the apartment all day and night,
saturday wake up aty my leisure, do homework, go to a show featuring the motha fuckin timmys. After show, party with the timmys, and then they will crash here along with my friend joseph.
sunday-wake up after near death experience of drinking WAY to much, then do more homework..sounds fun eh?
revised version of a poem I put ehre the other day:
Fake Counter Marble Top
As she grips that shining rod,
flexible, yet rigid, and puts her mouth
at its end, my heart begins to race.
And as she breathes in slowly
I feel air shift so slightly
around bare necks and forearms.
She teases the buttons, sliding
them through fabric slits,
and just before they slip, returning
them, teasing me into a decision;
but I wont give in that easy,
telling her what she wants to hear:
Ill make her wait, atleast
a moment longer.
and as our eyes meet, my hands
begin to slip, sweat covered on
that fake marble counter top;
moisture from our transactions nerves.
And I look up past her nose,
not knowing which eye to capture,
afraid of stopping time for that moment
when our eyes caught each others
that moment when all is silent
and still, and air becomes heavy.
And she begins to speak again;
first in a cracked breath, smoothing
out into that exasperated voice,
and she says, Fries or onion rings?
haha, great poem...i was like woah at first, then i got to the bottom line...funny...
I like your new profile picture.