#stonefacetellsatale

if my body were a temple, you were a god. i found myself at eye level of beasts as you grew upwards above us; we look up like dogs at the feet of neglect. 

when will you see me? when will you stop stepping on the hands that laid your throne? after all, immortality is best traveled by word of mouth. no one knows how a name sours there. no one knows how the sweet will branch outward, while the other tones can manifest below them. 

a rival of my sugar is my salt.

a rival of neglect is compassion. 

a rival of compassion is hope. 

perhaps this is slander, and i build you a place of banishment and ivory towers. when birds sing, it echoes and you lose sleep. when dogs cry, we mourn for our youth. if the moon cries, we can bathe in her blush. 

this 

is 

a

nice  

view

and i know how it grows over.

i know how a fertile soil is pillaged to be returned to the mother anew. every turn of the soil could be a new vine to overgrow us. every moment passes and reveals some bigger picture; can you see it through the trees?

this 

is 

a 

nice 

view

and i’m afraid

possibilities first, maybe nothing else.

the jackass across from you at the bar

asks you about your bike. he suggests that the budweiser 

in your left hand 

came with keys to a fucking harley or something.

you laugh, and show me a picture of your truck.

you have really nice lips and i keep staring at them.

i divert myself by thinking about the jacket you have on, and how you must

get stuck in the rain a lot, and i wonder where you’re going next

and i wonder if i’m going to be sitting next to you in your truck

talking to you about the weather in a couple of minutes.

 you light a cigarette and invite me to the pack. 

i watch you balance it before your lips touch,  and i watch it spark.

i say something like, “i hope it rains soon,”

you say, “I could always use the rain”

and at least you came prepared.

hours pass and you invite me home with you. i decline,

out of responsibility. and i kick myself, out of responsibility,

the whole way home in the car.

i’ll send you a message, i’ll say, “sometimes i let men do my flirting for me”

and you’ll say “well that’s really a shame, because

you’re really quite good at it.”