The Afterparty

The sound of your voice like corn stalks swimming together in a pool of midnight…
Remember the time we left The Outhouse, after the Alice Donut show, moonshined bodies, 1 in the morning,
And we tumbled into the corn fields thinking we’d run through them
And it would be like a movie, plants falling before our lovers’ dream,
Bowing in polite deference to human whimsy and romance?
But instead, those proud, tall bastards showed a will of their own,
A vengeance, a desire to tell us to shut the fuck up and go home already,
Yet without mouths and voiceboxes and lungs all they could do was…
All they could do was…
All they could do was clog our noses and noiseholes with tightly-woven tassels,
All they could do was choke us to sleep with sweet shimmery cornsilk.
And remember how we slept there in the cornfields, sweetly cocooned, purple-faced and starved for oxygen?
Remember how we pulled blood-covered stamens from each other’s mouths with such desperate, tender love?
Remember spewing plant matter onto the dry ground and swearing that the dried corn leaves underfoot spelled out, “Reconsider”?
God, my dear, those were the days, our days, so young and wild and free.

The Afterparty

5 thoughts on “The Afterparty

  1. And remember how we slept there in the cornfields, sweetly cocooned, purple-faced and starved for oxygen?
    Remember how we pulled blood-covered stamens from each other’s mouths with such desperate, tender love?

    I love the lines your created. Curious, was this based on real experience?

    Man, you are bursting with creativity.

    Like

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