friskin

I wrote a poem tonight. I know, the technique and subject and irony are all totally cliche, but I really, really wanted to do an acrostic for old time's sake. And then I fugured, why not write it about my two current favorite addictions? Will refine later. For now:

Perhaps knowing what I'm about to say leaves you less inclined to hear:
It's true, I like you best alone in the dark, humming and stroking,
Never remembering how we let it drop, despite the heat...
But I do recall well each swelling bump and jolt I felt,
And a vague sense of accomplishment, or wave of fear,
Like the place I should rather be,
Like the echo of a bell.


Noticed before I hit "publish" that lines were almost all decreasing in number of syllables by one, so I cleaned it up a bit. Left the last two shorter 'cause I like them that way.

There are fuck lots of empty alcohol bottles lying around, and no people. Good thing I didn't get my hopes up tonight.