theres something about the lack of words that
makes goodbyes so hard. questions lingering on
your tongue, just waiting to be spat out. do you
still care? am i who you want? why not?
and theres something about autumn leaves on
the street that makes distance unbearable.
exhaling warm breath, mixing with cold air.
an instant smoker.

pike po vratu
vsaka druga bolj rdeca
manjka le kava

her lips pressed against
mine, my heart racing
her eyes and mind
wander
a constant craving she
fails to fulfill.
at night she sleeps
with ghosts of past
present is irrelevant
insufficient
(like funds on my credit card
when purchasing a gift, for her.
how ironic.)
and she says
babe
i wont be here forever
only long enough
to make you
love me.
(i know.)

her hands kept “accidentally” touching my crotch, to see if i was turned on.
i wasnt.
which was unusual. i’m most often wet before my pants come off.
unusual because her inner thigh is my favourite place to rest my hand, and if i could id put up a tent between her legs and live there, with my tongue teasing her clit every morning and before her afternoon tea.

so she tries harder. she pushes harder. she moans louder. she bites my neck harder.

but its just not hard enough.

all she wants me to do is bend her over the edge of bed, spread her legs, ram that 20€ substitute inside her, leave bite marks on her back, call her a dirty slut and make her cum a thousand times in my mouth.

but all i want to do is

fall in love.

po stanovanju tecem s skarjami in kolekcijo nozev
s tal z veseljem poberem keks (pet sekundno pravilo!)
po kosilu odplavam tri dolzine v olimpijskem bazenu
sibice in vzigalniki so moji najboljsi prijatelji
zobne nitke nisem uporabila niti enkrat
pri nami ne pogledam ne levo ne desno
rumen sneg je najboljsi
in imam rada tebe.

vecino njenih misli dobim v kratkih povedih,
najveckrat v posameznih besedah.
vsaka
v
svoji
vrstici
nanizanihenazadrugobrezpresledka
in vcasih mi poslje lazi.

dj krush slowly occupying my mind as i
exhale, cigarette smoke abandons my
throat and fills the space around me. the
striking image of her collar bone aches
when i try to decipher clues she left for
me in the photograph. (at least i think she did.)
in her strange language a caption, “tomorrow
ill tell you a story of how we met.” over exposure
electrifies the curvature of her sharpie-drawn
tattoo. i inhale again, confuse the songs and
static from the radio, and allow myself to
fall. because sometimes, when it hurts like
this, i dream her away in dark red nail polish,
“maybe this time she wont leave.”.

>pride iz kopalnice, hodi proti meni, se obrne in mi pokaze hrbet
kaplje mrzle vode polzijo po sestih (mogoce sedmih) dolgih rdecih crtah
sledi mojih nohtov

“ana, kaj tocno je to?”
popolnoma ji je jasno, da mi ze njeno vprasanje dviguje ego
istocasno se zaveda, da ji tega ne bom priznala

“nimam pojma, nisem bla jst, obljubim!”
ji zatrjujem z nasmeskom na obrazu in obcudujem moje delo
ne spomnim se kdaj sem to naredla, a mi sploh ni zal

ko zapre vrata za sabo pobozam modrico na notranji strani stegna
odtis njenih zob
njeno poslovilno darilo meni.

ko me,
z glavo med njenimi nogami
in okusom nje na mojem jeziku,
premaga radovednost
in se srecata najina pogleda,
ko nagajivo privzdigne obrv
(“packa,” pomislim in poskusam skrit nasmesek)
takrat si obljubim, da je ne spustim iz stanovanja
brez njenega “ooooo ja”