The rain embraced earth,
leaving behind morning dews and vigor.
Somewhere along the distant town, I hear an aged song.
Swirl swirl, I once roam the world.
Azure sunset, Tears of spring, The world once my mount.
Mountain thoughts, River heart, Valley self,
My River is dried, ocean emptied,
Simply a Drunken fisherman in the sunset.

Sometimes she smiles first, asks easy questions
and acts like your responses aren’t ridiculous.
She tilts her **** in your direction, exposes **** rhymes, assonance, and alliteration,
and whispers something
about being free
tomorrow. Alone. Bored. She,
like you, could use
some warmth,
some jokes,
a good

****
Other times, you’re drunk
as ****, and so alone
you need to take your mind off bridges, pills, plastic
bags— the face in the mirror
getting deeper creases than you thought possible. So
you find someone
who looks bored and alone
and say something
awkward, stupid,
not funny—
she doesn’t even look at you.

Im not sober tonight
laying alone in my bed.
Because I’m drunk
on the memories
of what we were
and overdosing
on the thoughts
of what we will never be.

I met him in the night.
    A Gayborhood local
     told me he was from Venezuela, but didn’t have to,
           his accent, so beautiful with its deep grit and softness,
                               twang and lisp.
                               I already knew,           he didn’t have to tell me.

             He bought me drinks, and watched
                             me             and only me,
                as I bit from the fruit of his garden.
              
             He invited me to an afterparty,   I didn’t know
   him, but we went     through alleys,
         dampened by the heat of bodies
      melding to the brick walls, glistening
                            in the streetlights and nightlife. Unknown lips
                          pressed and held, to stay,            not to
                         part. It was
        beautiful.
          
             Within the alley was
        our destination: underground. It was
                a luscious venue, crowded, exuberant and whimsy.
    Velvet covered the walls, and he brought me more drinks.
                                      I finished them all.
                    

                                                               I remember
locking lips with a stranger, and how
         it hurt.

                                       He was warm and sweaty, and
         smelled of Burberry and whiskey,
                                    his stubble left
               my face burning.

                            He grabbed my hand, and led me to
                         the bathroom, then I woke up
                             in his bed.
      
      
             I remembered
                            his husband’s name, and that
                                            he lived in Caracas, that
                  we had ***, and took
                           a shower together, that
                            his mother, dying from leukemia,
                                               slept upstairs, unknowing.
        


                                            ­               I wept
in a stranger’s arms,
   cradled by their tiny physique.
         I wept
              for our beloveds.

'''They said
"she is the gal Delilah got her traits from"
But what do I know?? 😂😂
I told them
"am the wine Noah took"
Coz she will undress her ******
Though inside my heart
"don't be a  Samaritan who likes wells"
I wish brain could see silent hell on wish you well😂😳😳'''