erased by the blotchy make-up of somebody’s love

(to Cecilia Giménez)

a friend is just a stranger you’ve yet to meet. and you you you you will be in the eye will be the eye of the beholder leaning in to make just one of the two reflections of other bend all the way into the skull, eyes wide open to allow for as much expansion of the art of friendship as possible oh that reflection it’s dead the moment it touches the matte warmth of the skin, that’s what I always say, a friend is just a stranger who never became a lover, a lover is just a friend you lost at the point of impact all things merging together becoming unbearably hot unbearably close like meteor meeting earth’s personal space melting metal across the atmosphere like electric blanket, I sleep alone to forget/remember that sleeping in someone’s arms is impossible, there’s only lying in his arms pretending to be asleep because it’s not romantic that it’s too hot and you have nowhere to put that arm, and really all in all there’s just too much person there to lose consciousness, me I can forget, me I can ignore and fall into blissful chaotic nothingness of memory-wiping dreamscape like ecce homo touched-up by a well-meaning old spanish lady, oh aren’t we all eventually touched-up by a well-meaning old spanish lady, like lying in another’s arms pretending not to be slowly erased by the blotchy make-up of somebody’s love

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