1. Falling and love and being in love is like a flash when your eyes are not blinded anymore, it feels like you are passing a bottle of tequila and you have the faint feeling of a celebration which you have no idea of, because you only love once and you love once and one and once
So I keep passing the tequila bottle between me and Nicky, both of us grinning, Nicky’s paper crown falling off him, the bright now red hair trickles with the fire he has in his mouth, the cigarette faintly falling off onto the pavement as he drops it and it fades, as he finnishes his smoke but my mind replays the cigarette he holds and we both stand up with all wrapped in sleep as if it were snow and if it were to snow it would snow with all the flakes falling all over and making a temple for the cigarette
Sometimes there is no love to achieve
The lights are off
And the people are off
And no one bothers to flick so I open my eyes and I stare at Nicky and his crown and memories of his cigarette.
And the bar is just as cold as the illusion with all the people sulking and staring at the surroundings with the mirrors of the top to avoid the illusion of being alone forever and holding two things in both hands, a largo and a fag makes you feel less alone along with your clothes, your ties and your belongings.
When I was a kid I’d run around naked to get the feeling of being truly alone as you are, as you come, as you die, as you consume your food and your guilt, your pleasures and Nicky makes a face in between the cracks of the mirrors, grinning so that his smile is split open with a kitchen knife as we get pub food and it feels like Winter already with no Christmas lights to cheer up and only fear of Santa’s death as if it could be over the news and the memory will stain ageless, knowing that it happened then and then and that’s it no memory of why and how we were just how we drank, ate and mixed tequila with vodka and some beer to wake up tomorrow with the sheets
like snow
to freeze in a cold’s summer night with fever grasping your throat, something like death a liquid as the lover not the lover pins you down and kisses you
that’s not what love is
that’s what a paper crown ripped on the end would be and how you rip it further
So I keep passing the tequila bottle between me and Nicky, both of us grinning, Nicky’s paper crown falling off him, the bright now red hair trickles with the fire he has in his mouth, the cigarette faintly falling off onto the pavement as he drops it and it fades, as he finnishes his smoke but my mind replays the cigarette he holds and we both stand up with all wrapped in sleep as if it were snow and if it were to snow it would snow with all the flakes falling all over and making a temple for the cigarette
Sometimes there is no love to achieve
The lights are off
And the people are off
And no one bothers to flick so I open my eyes and I stare at Nicky and his crown and memories of his cigarette.
And the bar is just as cold as the illusion with all the people sulking and staring at the surroundings with the mirrors of the top to avoid the illusion of being alone forever and holding two things in both hands, a largo and a fag makes you feel less alone along with your clothes, your ties and your belongings.
When I was a kid I’d run around naked to get the feeling of being truly alone as you are, as you come, as you die, as you consume your food and your guilt, your pleasures and Nicky makes a face in between the cracks of the mirrors, grinning so that his smile is split open with a kitchen knife as we get pub food and it feels like Winter already with no Christmas lights to cheer up and only fear of Santa’s death as if it could be over the news and the memory will stain ageless, knowing that it happened then and then and that’s it no memory of why and how we were just how we drank, ate and mixed tequila with vodka and some beer to wake up tomorrow with the sheets
like snow
to freeze in a cold’s summer night with fever grasping your throat, something like death a liquid as the lover not the lover pins you down and kisses you
that’s not what love is
that’s what a paper crown ripped on the end would be and how you rip it further
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