Chat Aperture

i met a slave to more.
he sent me a story.
well written, subtley erotic.
the underhum of O.

he begins to want you.
asks you to call, your lungs
are filled with cruddy phlegm .you cough
and tell him ~no i don’t feel like talking~
you could be

a wrestler from havana
for all he knows you could be
his next ex girlfriend
his next faceless
fuck. you have made him want
again, and desire burns while autumn

leaves its colors
to fall on the ground
under the aurora
while the dry stalks
of southern california burn
in a ring
around city known
for the manufacturing of angels.

he wants to imagine my lungs
like the insides of the interstices
between trees. he wants to watch
something burn and dissolve
though me to form wings
to brush his face
as if aerial and bound
to the physics of drag.

–Lynze N