After I leave you tell the landlord that I’m just gone for the weekend. The window panes smell like the baby we never had. When your eyes close they admit the living room was always off centre and always ghosts and we’re left to clarify cheekbones.

And I’m watching Hockey Night in Canada and coming up for air after the second period and that was a really long time ago.



In the middle of Winter you sell me patience and I talk and you laugh. You weren’t broke you were what I spent on heaven and electrons. The centre of our bodies is nothing to brag about. There’s a spark at breakfast and by dinner no one gives a shit about the cold.

I’m so tired of donations and opposites and she comes first.

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A rearview mirror says they held hands. I watched as Van Morrison sang them all the way to his car. Her arms like my mother’s wedding band around his waste.

It was less than a minute and you tied my shoes and you kept me from a phone call.

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A fast dance. When you turn your feet in you swallow my tongue. My stomach’s full of heineken & scratched records & successful upgrades. Your shoulder width apart is a velvet smoking jacket ready to approach my champagne room. No sex.


In the morning we’re a line of stray cats. The common denominator of an exit is what happened last night. What I love about you is when your thighs touch. What I love about you is that you’re gone tomorrow.


You hang it over the supporting beams. I wait until you’re acoustic. The exclamation of this turning point is a fire. Through the glass a hand and a porch song and a set of teeth.

My heart used to be.


A walk. I’ve kenneled your memories numbers one through twenty-two. The lottery I never won.

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The biggest mistake is the future. If I knew how to ask we wouldn’t be here. You can’t take back what you said when there was room for expansion. The end of the world comes at the end of a word with less girls to hit on. You were a rough draft and basketball practice. I wouldn’t be caught dead without you.


I started you out of boredom. We eat different landscapes in front of the tv. When I take off my shirt, you take off your shirt. Your muscle always stays inside the guts of eventually we all fuck up and turn back and get lost. You are what I saw when I booked the clouds.

When are you coming out? We should probably talk soon.


Your growl is¬†always at arms length. On a drive to your house we pick up magazines and cigarettes. A set of hives holds me closer. A view of the lake is all we’ve ever wanted inside my head. There is no connection between I let it slip and four legs and we can’t still.

I twist my hair until she disappears. I don’t even smoke.

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