stardust and severed tusks

when i get sick and deliriously dumb, i dream a lot about you. sparkling showers of flowing fabric, glittering and garish, you meet my gaze through the howling crowd, a real rockstar cephalopod. 

Kitschy songs about bad love— don’t you sound b1tchÿ, dove? you blink like a broken traffic light, beautiful and strange, and neon lights invade my brain. when water fills my lungs, you’re there, a two-faced prïçklt i wanna 

kiss. 

you sing all night, and its kind of bad. im no good at the keyboard, you know, and thats okay. we tumble on the floor and laugh, abashed. its nicer that way. 

when its            midnight           and the crowd groans and gurgles, we can slink out the back and see the big night cat. tendrils slide around my arm and im charmed, and antennas twitch, like a glitch.

you’re nothing and everything, and i’d like nothing more. the starry eyes wont stay tonight.