by request

yea yea, another fucking poem. i wrote this one because someone asked me to. so i did.

___

his pupils are bristly
on a bed of boredom.
getting a little top-heavy,
i explain.
sweltering in an
island of desperation
decay
deliberate apathy.
(unyielded)

his gaze is low and smooth,
soaked in bourbon.
though -
the neon green buds grasp yet,
i muse.
clawing the sky,
tickling giggles out of thin air.
(unrelenting)

his insight is wrong and true
and bold.
it's a metaphor,
he murmurs.
for that shadow gig
you're chasing.
(ad,amant)

we are weaving a story
of soil, toil.
fruits of our labours
our loins
or looms.
a story woven of
licentious savvy
and raucous sarcasm.
(unavoided)