dirty. shiny. pennies.

we’re just lust and stardust
and really pretty words and late nights
cannabis kisses and play fights
in a bed of sin-soaked sheets.

i just can’t quench my thirst for you
i want the best, the worst of you

i know I’m not the first, nor the last, but i’ll be damned if i’m not the best
i’ll kiss you harder, touch you softer, love you longer than the rest.

I’m half-certain the freckles on your skin, 
when connected, spell out sin.
Forked tongue kisses on my
chest my
face my
lips my
chin.

you grin just like the devil,
*giggle*, you’re not on my level
you’re only as deep as my skin,
which in, you lose, you revel. 

but you don’t miss him

wishing you could kiss him
you tell yourself that you don’t miss him
‘cause you really truly don’t
just his lips, his eyes, his nose
the way it wrinkles at a joke
when he laughs. the way he spoke
about your fears, your doubts, your hopes
in a way, that made you think and say

“this one may actually give a shit.”

maybe.
you miss the days he’d
pick you up and drive you crazy
singing that goddamn Taylor Swift song because he barely knew the words
but he was mumbling them in your direction so that’s all that really mattered.
you were smitten, you were flattered
that a person so deep and beautiful
could find such depth and beauty in you.
and fuck, you were so beautiful
when he touched you
the days he loved you,
when he put no one above you.
you miss his morning voice,
there really is no sweeter noise
you miss the way his cinnamon-gum-kisses
didn’t fuck up the taste of your coffee that day
he made your favorite breakfast.
you miss drowning in his green eyes
and stealing his vintage levis
and the way he’d sigh, 
breathe deep, wink an eye
while out for a drive
rest his hand on your thigh
every every single time
a beautiful love soaked lyric spilled, filled the car from his car’s shitty speakers.

but you don’t miss him, no. nope.
not even just a little. 

tell me you love me in your morning voice
i swear there is no sweeter noise  

i swear the fall of the rain seems to whisper your name
and i still feel your flame flowing through wicked veins
you love yourself more, love your lovers insane
love leaving us high, dry, wide-eyed and stained 

i embrace all of love, the dark sides. the glory.
the stains on my heart are simply more stories
 

We were fools breaking the rules
Sneaking out and skipping school. 
As friends we were so loving
But as lovers we were cruel

wet with sweat, he lights a cigarette 
inhales the smoke, exhales regret
his eyes, they trace my silhouette
he holds his breath, places his bets

lies on lips on collar bones
sin on skin on sand on stones
eye to eye, hand to chest
hand to thigh and heavy breath
full moon high. even higher crest.
with your forked tongue just tell me this:

I’m just in transitions, you know it’s that age, 
Filled up with sexual frustration and rage 
And fear, doubt, and hate
And too much on my plate
And too little time 

there is a truth about me deeper, so much deeper than my skin
but you don’t want my virtue or my truth, you want my sin.  

we always end on an ellipses
we are love nomads, just gypsies
always always on the road  
in search of other hearts and homes… 

Huntington Beach

Huntington Beach

i live in a town where the women are plastic, 
where surgeons work magic
it’s really quite tragic.
where if you do see a frown you’ll learn to look past it
and if that you can’t manage
get bigger sunglasses 
(but if all else fails just throw some money at it.)

where houses and cars
are bigger than hearts
breasts, brawn over brains
LED’s over stars
Starbucks, and big trucks
big arms with big bucks
double your luck
when you’re out at the bars
the kids are all dumb fucks
choking on blunts. pluck
daddy’s plastic from Louis* to pay for the bill 
pull out some cash to pay for the weed
give a quick suck
to pay for the pills,
red ones and blues ones
and old ones and new ones
you swallow two, snort a few
watch a friend chew one
and wait till Main Street becomes a kaleidoscope
of spray tans and MK and knock off Jeffreys
and Ed Hardy catch a taxi 
to a party, in the backseat
with Bacardi, you are snapping
pics with your brand new white iPhone 4S
to show all you friends that you’re the best,
you are the best, yes unless
you get less ‘likes’ but don’t worry or fret
do your hair big, climb up on your bed
(or your bathroom counter for that matter)
and take a hot photo when you’re undressed
take off your make-up, crawl into bed
wake up, go to class get some thoughts in your head
in your pre-plotted mind. swear we’re the living dead
and this friday night do it aaaaaaaaaalllll again