The Downlow

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austin, texas, United States
aspiring writer, English and journalism student, hails from Texas. likes include writing, coffee, books, whisky and people.

Monday, September 30, 2013

Thursday, September 26, 2013

I had a heart then

''You're a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen''


Monday, September 16, 2013

can't do any more

What I've been up to lately —

I say to you as
we stand under rainclouds,
you with six pack in hand,
"kissing is just a touch
lips playing,
like talking
only closer,"
and you kiss me
since you just ate a meatball from your spaghetti
still tupperwared in my fridge.
You say, "kissing means something,"
hand resting on my hips,
mouth so close I catch
wafts of garlic.
I tell you,
other things do."


I had forgotten what it felt like,
nights alone with you —
I guess, not really alone,
they dance around us
"Baby you're the only live one in this club."
I had forgotten what it feels like
to be simple with you
to be alive with you
to be myself with you.
We drink and we fight
and we fuck and we laugh and
we cry.
Why did you remind me? ...
How did I forget?


And I am laying next to you now.
On my front porch,
and we've watched blues brothers
and you're smoking parliments
and you with your NPR and your
getting to me.
A Marlboro between my pointer and my middle finger
lights, cherry hot,
and you speak,
"You keep up with my rampant narcissism,
that's rare"
and I say
"Lets go to bed"
And I am laying next to you now.

I'm becoming too starry-eyed for my own good.