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all the bay windowsyou cut the bread, like it was a dead number, skinned and clean. the action of it caught, like a necklace, between my teeth, an heirloom i could not keep.
you refused the timber like a bear cub, blank and blatant-something which belonged out there, with another. spitting ladles like one living in someone elses home, where the ceilings grew in ways we could not see, with lice in their bowels.
we ate greek on the porch and put the french away in the sewing drawer(but only after 6). miss-taken for a congregation, a surgery of candles and wax on my thumb, like some distant thing, relying on the shape of a glance, as we all do.
we ran our fingers along the walls, knowing their movements, and their dialogue, they spoke with airs, and of them. head against the doorframe, a déjà vu, an in between thing that happens every seldom day.
i climbed beneath the background table and pressed my hands to its lining, like an unmoving waltz, and knew that it was done.
Pyritedelicately he beads those crystal words
onto a thread, onto
one throat-encompassing string
then he pulls those sparking pleasantries
tighter, tighter, tighter, knots
at both ends
all the while singing her praises
stoking that black fire with nicotine
making her need him to breathe
deep efforts with shallow results
down, down, down, down, under
until her empty spaces are filled with
his empty promises
he tells me inner
beauty is inside of me
where he wants to be
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More