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BittersweetAnd I don't know if you were trying,
to shove a grenade down my throat
after letting me taste the sweet flavor
of your passion.
Shoving ashes and embers
against my tongue,
after I had felt yours.
And it's like I had given you all
of the peace and all of the passion,
I could fit in the palms of your hands,
And in return, you gave me
a dead bird who used to sing to me.
And that dead bird now lays
on my tongue,
as I wait for it to rot away and let the after taste
slowly fade so I can forget
the lies it had sang.
Diamond, Desert, Dove, DiveHe's a diamond in a desert of sand
And when he smiles, it's like a star exploded
And that smile seems to be across an ocean
and my boat has broken.
His boat has sunken, drowning his doves while my engine still runs.
And I'm fine with
whispering my heart into a shell
every few weeks and letting it sink to his corpse,
but it's never enough to make him swim again.
And after we've swam so far, and paddled our hearts out,
it's as if he has given up, slid off the side,
and let himself sink with everyone he had ever left behind.
All for good reason.
And I still don't know why he hasn't resurrected himself
into a shark or a storm
and sunken my ship.
Either for me to join him once again,
or watch me drown and leave me to die
as he drowns himself
in a desert of sand and ignorance.
Three Little Girls.Three little girls, they've got the perfect man.
Their faces taking no radiance as it's cupped in his hands.
His heart's a raging fire that dances to your favor.
But, sweetheart, know that's something you don't savor.
You don't treasure his smile, you don't treasure his voice.
To you, he's just another boy.
He isn't your god, he isn't your sun.
He's nothing special to you, he's just someone.
Your heart doesn't skip when he walks in the door.
Your eyes don't light up, at least not anymore.
You three little girls feel nothing but pity.
You see him as a shack while he's as great as a city.
You don't deserve these men anymore.
You don't love him enough to get to the top floor.
Watch, little girls, say goodbye to your perfect men.
As their faces light up when I hold them in my hands.
You can watch as they smile, hear their hearts beat.
Sending shivers down my spine and making my knees weak.
You don't deserve this tower, this skyscraper in the clouds.
Finally, for once, you're behind m
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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