acid & tender.

tender airplane

lamps,

stretching

arms

grasping seemingly for

something,

yet nothing.

 

acid like my

reflection.

5 lamps stuck to

each side of the mirror

so I can better

hunch into furrows

I’ve dug in my

dreams

of you.

 

Acid like covering

your ears

when flushing,

in that tiny

gasoline

toilet

cubicle.

 

All this trudging

of feet to find

a recognisable head,

TV screen,

“oh that’s my seat?”

 

in tampering darkness.

 

Acid spreading like this

cycle treading

takes over my

migraines-

soon I realise

 

it’s all tenderness

compared to my thought

of you. Whispers

of you

even on this modern,

apathetic,

emotionless

plane.

(yet you still creep in)

 

3 movies, 6 hours.

Inevitably, like a

prisoner paralysed

by their own

choices

watching

pixelated lovers

circling other lovers:

I’m wearing coloured

lenses, filtering

all these loves with

past versions

of you and more

of you.

 

I wish it could all stop

because it’s blinding

me from the true

experience of

a simple,

tender,

airplane ride.

 

They distribute

perfectly marvellously, moist

lukewarm towels.

Distracted only for

a few flying

fleeting seconds

before heat scampers

into frigidness.

 

i think i just

miss your heat to the

point where it’s

neither

tender

nor

acid?

 

so before landing

i’ll let my acid love

spread up my legs

 

(i really don’t know

how you find tenderness in it,

darling)

.

Munich, time to turn

the hour hand back.

 

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