outside, a dog barks. are we intruders or ghosts? a couple pulls in for some midnight gas. cars come and go as if the gas station was a hardworking whore. the attendant has gone home to smoke up. the night comes over us as if falling in love. the desert yawns, my heart is cold.
‘I don’t ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember. Somewhere inside me there’ll always be the person I am to-night.’F. Scott Fitzgerald (Tender Is the Night)
(Source: uncle-iroh)
coin operated showers— making every minute feel precious.
I sleep like KL traffic. starting and stopping, the build up to nothing. not going anywhere, dreaming like a fever. pictures that pass like flickering trains. I am an empty station.
your tongue an encyclopaedia. I taste the world on it, through it. tell me about the world I’m too afraid to see. the places and things you’ve indexed, bookmarked between your teeth. the definition of beauty tasting of ash. kiss me the world.
“maybe you should stop being in love for a while.”
“I wouldn’t know how else to be.”
the night was a blur. the machines, the alcohol, jackpots and hormones drifting down the Strip in a parade of addictions.
her laugh is easy, the sort that girls are taught to have for men. her accent betrays her upbringing. I’m surprised she allows it, but I doubt anyone notices. horse riding in the afternoons. she was laidback sensual, and her skin laced with obscure references. a tingling ache for connection.
I write your name on a cigarette and smoked it till my fingers burned.
she pulls a strap over her reluctant shoulder. her green dress has since lost the moon. her head is tilted slightly, as if to have me in her peripheral. I ask her what she wants. it is a sight I am familiar with. she hesitates for a second, then turns to put on her heels. how we allow our hearts to breathe.
