You super liked me on tinder so I knew it was fishy. Your pictures were fierce full of beauty, strength and softness, the type to leave the flesh sweat slicked and wanting but insides bruised. You seemed like all the bad parts to a Townes Van Zant song in all the best possible ways. Gram Parsons wrote your soundtrack back in 72 and Tom Robbins tried to harness you before you’d even come true.
I know you were just a hook for the black market and had we met up I’d of just had my organs harvested and at best woken up in a tub of ice and blood half dead and half dying. But I sort of feel that’s how a morning after a night with you should feel. I swipe left now for every other broad until the day your flagged account returns.
Dear Kate with the masturbate heading, Polaroid tinder pics that tug at my heart strings….and lungs, liver, kidneys, spleen….and whatever else the black market needs. Or dear to whomever wrote your dialog at least, let’s go lay out by the Pearl with a fire and songs and the static of sex clinging to flesh, till maybe it archs, or maybe it doesn’t…
The Organs Swallowed the Catfishing Hook
tinder fishy flesh hook like a
Townes Van Zant Gram Parsons Tom Robbins
sweat slicked soundtrack
the bad parts and the best ways
leave me wanting
the black market organs
tug at my harvested heart strings
woken up after a night with you
full fierce bruised beauty
your clinging flesh
strength and softness,
lungs, liver, kidneys, spleen….
let’s go lay out
in a tub of ice
sex and songs
swipe now for Polaroid pics