Straight No Chaser

I'm an Orange Moon

the poem, thus far, is all about peaches. cored, ripe, naked and perpetually juicing peaches. gilt peaches pretending to be finials, capping the rod that braces the curtain drawn flush with the peach-painted walls of the plush-cushioned parlor...

(where love and lust coalesce with a purposeful thrust, sealing my trust as we roll in the dust...)

i was supposed to write a story tonight. and then, when that turned out to be entirely impossible, i decided to just write a poem for marcus, because i don't have any better ideas for his email tonight.

but it keeps spinning out of control, the poem, and anyway i have to leave in an hour to pick up krystle from the airport. so, pointless. so, a bit of litewriting instead. also known as playing in the stupid journal.

stupid journal. and stupid peaches!