attempting cursive

michaelangelo on acid

i think about the places we’ll meet

and the chances of kissing your cheeks

acid washed hands dance in the street

our fingers drag and point out a familiar beat

you’re the electric feel from m,g,m,t

you melt my heart from my lips to my feet

i’ll carry you off into a midsummer teenage retreat

too shocked to hear your impulse is me.

the climax of a downfall

They stray forward with no contemplation to look down the sky scraper they’ve just waltzed off of. Their body’s whip in the air and the wind is their dance partner. Hold hands, then let go of the clouds just like the monkey bars you climbed in Elementary School. The olympic dive of death which cars, concrete, and blood splash like rainfall as you attempt to penetrate the city’s shallows from the downfall above. Somewhere between take off and mid-flight; deployed the parachute of suicidal climax. Now you crumble under the street where you’ve almost made it to the sewage pipes. Awaiting the after-death of the falling velocity. Awaiting the grave in your final destination in the sidewalk of times square. Awaiting the clean up crew to extract your eradicated phantom limbs, one at a time like a pez-dispenser.