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new york. dublin. london. paris. berlin. rome. amsterdam. a connect the dots of capitals that map out your mind. the breath of life is just another fancy phrase for an open mouthed kiss from an admirer. with all these cities in mind, we don't have any worries, just worn out soles and souls and holes in our hearts.

i will fill notebooks about the curves of your body and the softness of your skin. my body has been asleep for ages but you've dusted off the cobwebs with your easy, slippery words. fireflies light the path to desolation, and fairies perch on your shoulders like God's shoulders.

i will wake up to diagrams and fists wrapped in blood. we are the soulless of the world. the excrement. the degenerates. another few years, and the cobwebs have grown back. make my skin a bluish gray, a bruise wrapped in a ribbon of cancer. dissolve me in water like date rape and hold me over your head like something you'll never live down.

i will fill my notebooks with tales of love and love lost, and travel with these easy words from a fountain pen. i spill my ink like a knight spills his blood and wonder if it's worth saving anyone. he sings out of key but in keeping with the rules. ettiquete and chivalry are dead beasts with spears hanging out of them. entrails become extrails and hearts become dead muscles.

ancient history is fuzzy around the edges, like a peach. i'm dying to sink my teeth in and let the past bleed over my lips.