faster than the speed of love

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April 4, 2014 by Wayne.

clearing b-side poems

faster than the speed of love
and other such phrases
in batches every quarter
like aces hidden up her sleeves, like
sentences i switched for words while waiting

acetate framing skin, black skirt slit halfway up her thigh
dress shirt creasing and flung aside
veins straining against duct tape
nets of bulbs hanging down from reclaimed wood
and mellow drama

always searching for something
(spoiler: it’s not profound, it’s a fucking girl)
to elaborate:
okay, so being honest and assuming honesty is a desirable virtue and all virtues are desirable
i watched awkward office men huddled around a nailed table, with her
furrowed brows on corkboard benches
tapped out desplat symphonies, pretended to look fucking poetic nodding over an open book,
doesn’t matter
what does?

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