This bed is a ship

This bed is a ship is a sporadically updated internet journal, 
a home for odd scraps of writing.

fragments of indexed desire

I am a pitiful animal of desire. I want your dirt in my mouth. 

and here, vertigo in all my–

I want to learn by feel the shape of all your injuries

assuage the fear that there would ever be an end to all this unremittant code, this indexing of wants. this lettering out of all desires need not cease. I want you I want you I want– the inarticulate fear that my desire is a weapon turned on you. that I add my lust to the litany of abuses the world has laid upon you. but I should like to treat you tender while you bleed.

each part of my delidded eye is drawn to the seductive object. all words collapse with these mazes in the room. I wrap my phantom hair around these pillars, my body tenses in all the spaces between, my god the air the air that hangs heavy damp between.

this keening sound will not stop coming out of me unbidden, it has marked you with a long and foolish knife as one more site, as one more true north to all this desire I cannot control. a flood, a flood. 

meet me at the rooftop table, worn and weather-beaten. hold your hands close to my skin, but do not place them on me. we will quietly imagine setting our bodies to burn in the evening air. 

let my teeth fall out, if only the right words would come forth with them. 

furloughed limbs and dripping fruit, I am falling off the bone. 

I must stop counting gazes. my account will never find itself in black. in obsession I am always the victor. 

the making of marks, the smooth slide of lines. the ape drawing its bars. I have no right to this misery, to mine, to yours, to the blooming out of language from my broken body into time. but I should beg to assuage it. to forgive myself for all this cultish lust. 

I want to get inside your body like you got inside my head.