lenny bruce tattoo [draft no. 4]

torn; 

a failing feather in her handwriting 

faintly hidden under the mirror

secondhand smiles dribble down my chin

convince, looking into her eyes is my first mistake

sun swirling across her pepperbright skin

sin on this surely extant coffeeshop couch

remind me of how her wrist, peachly thin 

x
recalls mad machinations and I must begin

x

...

floating, the breeze breaks when we 

i can't blame anyone but myself

or maybe my mother, who first floated the thing, 

saying, "i can't blame anyone but myself." but 

i'm convinced: this is a good idea, sold to a lioness

before waking beside her 

her new sweat massaged into the mattress 

in the aura of whatever, is sold without much sell 

then buyer's remorse: this sweet thing cannot smile back.

...

"what do you mean he kissed a leper?

"what's the point in that? you kiss them

"and they fall apart."