I've got this tiny little numb spot
Located precociously in the center of my ribcage,
Teetering and wobbling next to my other parts
Not particularly enjoying this,
This, his very own personal
Physiological playground.
And yes, I suppose this numb spot could be male.
Although, I’m sure its quite irrelevant.
Much like the spot itself.
I suppose these things happen.
This spot, I tell you
He’s full of ire,
Fire,
For absolutely
Nothing in particular
He’s a thousand tiny pieces
Of a thousand meaningless events
A culmination, you could say
Of every winter love-ache,
Every summer heart-break
And every springtime false hope
That grows with the greens of the street-side flowers
And fades just as quickly as their
Tangled, wind-blown petals.
Sitting there, on his iron throne,
A weight is imparted
And my feet tend to slow at the thought of him.
You little bitch! I exclaim.
A slap on his little face,
No me importa, his smug lip-shapes imply.
No need for a slap, or a punch
To portray
The stronghold this little
Tiny,
Omnipotent fool
Has on my heart.
Thou art my love, I say.
My little numb love.
My numb little love, seeking
Warmth in the covers of my soft padded ribs.
Stealing my past fires,
And using them to fuel my futures.
It gets so fucking hot in here sometimes.....
In dream sleep,
The thoughts of swingsets
In cold, thawing winters
Arise,
In our mutual minds.
I wore my spring jacket today,
In a cold Ohioan wind.
For a moment there, our temperatures met
And for that split second,
I knew that you, my little numb love,
Were simply as cold as i.
Located precociously in the center of my ribcage,
Teetering and wobbling next to my other parts
Not particularly enjoying this,
This, his very own personal
Physiological playground.
And yes, I suppose this numb spot could be male.
Although, I’m sure its quite irrelevant.
Much like the spot itself.
I suppose these things happen.
This spot, I tell you
He’s full of ire,
Fire,
For absolutely
Nothing in particular
He’s a thousand tiny pieces
Of a thousand meaningless events
A culmination, you could say
Of every winter love-ache,
Every summer heart-break
And every springtime false hope
That grows with the greens of the street-side flowers
And fades just as quickly as their
Tangled, wind-blown petals.
Sitting there, on his iron throne,
A weight is imparted
And my feet tend to slow at the thought of him.
You little bitch! I exclaim.
A slap on his little face,
No me importa, his smug lip-shapes imply.
No need for a slap, or a punch
To portray
The stronghold this little
Tiny,
Omnipotent fool
Has on my heart.
Thou art my love, I say.
My little numb love.
My numb little love, seeking
Warmth in the covers of my soft padded ribs.
Stealing my past fires,
And using them to fuel my futures.
It gets so fucking hot in here sometimes.....
In dream sleep,
The thoughts of swingsets
In cold, thawing winters
Arise,
In our mutual minds.
I wore my spring jacket today,
In a cold Ohioan wind.
For a moment there, our temperatures met
And for that split second,
I knew that you, my little numb love,
Were simply as cold as i.
