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Pick It Up

Having all the little triggers
her obvious advantage
swelling and coming over me.
I easily tower over the girl,
seriously, she demands perfection
it’s not enough I’m that different.
Lately though, I’ve asked her
to pick it up and shower me.
Her one of a kind reply,
was a surprise by turning the tables.
She said didn’t see herself in the words.
I’m here to scream aloud
they’re hers alone,
the first time ever girl, still denies.
The words spread out from me,
bleeding all over these pages
could be written about anyone.
We pick and choose our paths
the places we’ll eventually land,
I question if she’s the one
who’s truly set to defend me.
The one you’d risk everything.
I should have never of asked
if you saw yourself in all my drawings.
The lesson learned,
begging to beg one too many times.
After all, she’s never the one to blame
it’s her kind of affirmation
that acts on my nervous emotions.
That blessed moment
when the drug hits the spoon,
going from the syringe into the vein.
There is only one other feeling
that switches and changes time so
I have no other real choice,
but to listen to her
when she says she doesn’t see herself
inside the tonnage of my writings.
Oh but the hours I’ve spent memorizing
her brilliant smile, drawing up close
these intimately forgotten memories.
I can’t help but notice
that nothing has changed.
It’s the first time ever
that I’ve come here to write
about flashpoint moment
that came from somewhere pure.
I’ve given away more than most would,
still, I love sitting on the edge of her bed
watching her date night ritual
keeping special notice on her jewelry.
Maybe she’ll wear that necklace.
A choker is divine too
handing over control
the black boots with hair pulled tightly.
Hands on hips riding
pushing down on the chest
getting close to that perfect angle
not to mention her
perfectly manicured nails
dig in as her center presses down.
The girl with the tiny body
flexes and tightens while getting rigid,
skyward her eyes dream,
I can clearly see her looking upward.
Something reminds her of the music
she plays along entertaining the moment
stepping up on the curb
pulling my shirt towards her kissing smile.
There are too many minutes
too many songs on playlists
to keep going, I ask for a break.
Through those late night hours
near 4am, instead of writing
she’d shift and make an offering
the outcomes were the same
every time, we were caught up in it
hands on hips riding again
that perfect angle as she gripped
spreading fingers wide
it was her truest moment.
Tiny sweat beads rolled down
the hard curve of her spine
always so muscled
spending hours working out
stretching in some crowded class.
This time though
she’s come full circle
suggesting my words might have her
being the center of attention.
All that exacting or true to the moment
kind of cryptic writing
could possibly mean
our late nights have an affect.
The candles and tiny dragonflies
adorned the dimly lit room.
The temptation of taking a hard sip
I can clearly hear her take a gulp.
Swallowing hard, the thirst
was always there.
She’d give herself in whatever way,
but it needed to be planned out.
Here we are all this time later
nothing has ever really changed.
It’s impossible without her,
but still, I’ll learn to pick it up
today I may get a minute with her.
A centimental kiss will miss
I’ll ask for something else
she loves the attention though
there’s something about a poet
longing for his muse.


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