#Mark Leidner

[poetrysmackdown]

[typewriter-worries]

Missed Connection, Adrian Tomine | Romantic Comedies, Mark Leidner

[poems-from-around-the-world]

Having "Having a Coke with You" with You - Mark Leidner - USA

You asked me if I knew the poem “Having a Coke with You” I said I vaguely remembered it but didn’t really so you recited it in its entirety. We were walking from somewhere up by City Hall down toward South Street and the whole time you were reciting it I was wondering “Was that the last line of the poem?” after each line and each time I thought that, I thought it even more because as the poem got longer the fact that you were reciting it from memory became incrementally harder to believe until about two-thirds of the way through the poem I stopped thinking about how long it was and just started listening which I had been, but only a little, because of all that. Anyway then I started listening to it completely, believing the poem itself to be the sole reason you were reciting it but as soon as you finished you started to talk about how you used to think that that poem was just about how liberatingly banal being in love with someone was but then you said you’d started to think more recently it was more about the idiocy of caring about art at all when you could spend all that energy caring about someone you loved instead, and you said you were wondering where I stood on that question now that I had heard the poem and I was as struck by the question as I was stunned that you could so casually recite such a long good poem and that you hadn't even recited it primarily to solicit appreciation for your recitation so much as to ask what I thought about what you had thought about it then, versus how you thought about it now, and this was when I knew I wanted to be with you forever.

[handonmystupidheart]

from "being with you", mark leidner (x)

[angelsreturning]

Mark Leidner on "Having a 'Having a Coke with You' with You"

[gogglemouse]

Having “Having a Coke with You” with You

You asked me if I knew the poem “Having a Coke with You” I said I vaguely remembered it but didn’t really so you recited it in its entirety. We were walking from somewhere up by City Hall down toward South Street and the whole time you were reciting it I was wondering “Was that the last line of the poem?” after each line and each time I thought that, I thought it even more because as the poem got longer the fact that you were reciting it from memory became incrementally harder to believe until about two-thirds of the way through the poem I stopped thinking about how long it was and just started listening which I had been, but only a little, because of all that. Anyway then I started listening to it completely, believing the poem itself to be the sole reason you were reciting it but as soon as you finished you started to talk about how you used to think that that poem was just about how liberatingly banal being in love with someone was but then you said you’d started to think more recently it was more about the idiocy of caring about art at all when you could spend all that energy caring about someone you loved instead, and you said you were wondering where I stood on that question now that I had heard the poem and I was as struck by the question as I was stunned that you could so casually recite such a long good poem and that you hadn't even recited it primarily to solicit appreciation for your recitation so much as to ask what I thought about what you had thought about it then, versus how you thought about it now, and this was when I knew I wanted to be with you forever.

-Mark Leidner

[source]

[blackberryjam]

mark leidner, having ‘having a coke with you’ with you

[razorsadness]

The River

The woman told me the saddest thing I had ever heard. I told her I loved her because of what she had told me. Her expression soured. She warned me not to love her for her telling me that. She told me it was okay, and maybe even good, to love her – only not for that. I responded that I did not love her for that, exactly, and that she had misunderstood me. I admitted that why I loved her was related to what she had told me, yes, but only tangentially, and was that alright? She asked me to elaborate, so I told her that I loved her, not for the thing she had told me, but for the courage involved in telling someone something like it, something that sad, which seemed to me to be a great deal of courage – and I told her I also loved her, though far less than for the courage part, although plenty still, for the way in which she told it to me, which I explained had been, in all seriousness, eloquent and mesmerizing. She had a small build and at that point she laughed like a flower, wilting and blooming. Her nose was in the center. I decided to show her the river. I picked her up in my hands and carried her, crisscrossing back and down through the steep and elaborate cragwork of the slope of the riverbank. When my feet were finally in the water I looked at her and said, the river is deep, and fast, and it drowns many people, but I still love it. I still love the river, I told her. But I do not love it because it is deep, and fast, and drowns many people. I love it because it runs behind my house, and I have lived above it forever.

—Mark Leidner, from Thermos Mag

[exitwound]

Mark Leidner (via substack)

[farmgf]

favorite poems compilation <3

[wovi]

*

mark leidner, having “having a coke with you” with you

[poetrysmackdown]

[typewriter-worries]

Romantic Comedies, Mark Leidner

[newskinfortheoldceremony1974]

Hera Lindsay Bird’s unholy love for Mark Leidner

[godlizzza]

give us some Hoffstrahm smut please

This is a bad idea, Peter thought as he sat heavily in his desk chair. Hoffman, who was down on his knees in front of him, had to catch his leg to keep him from rolling away. He pulled him in until Peter had to part his legs to keep from kneeing Hoffman in the throat. That in itself wasn't such an unpleasant thought but then Hoffman was pulling one of those stupid leather gloves he wore off with his teeth and it was enough to bring any ideas of crushing Hoffman's windpipe to a grinding halt.

"Can't help but notice how tense you've been today, Special Agent," Hoffman said, his voice coming out low and husky as he smoothed his hands along the inside of Peter's thighs and pushed his legs even further apart.

Peter sucked in a breath at the rough treatment and bit out, "Oh yeah? 'Cause this place is such a fucking retreat, right?"

"Didn't realise the FBI had it so cushy," Hoffman mused, running the pad of his thumb over Peter's tented zipper.

Peter ground his teeth together so hard he was sure his dentist, Dr. Leidner, was shivering three states away. He fumbled with his belt for a second before pulling it open. Thankfully, Hoffman seemed to take the cue and popped the button on Peter's pants. When he pulled the zipper down Peter let out a small huff of relief at the tightness easing off his straining erection.

"Just shut the fuck up," Peter hissed, gripping the arms of the chair.

Hoffman reached into his boxers and pulled out Peter's flushed cock, the simple touch of his hand enough to make Peter thrill with anticipation.

"Real smooth talker," Hoffman muttered, then unceremoniously took Peter's cock into his mouth.

"Fuck." Peter's head flew back of its own accord, smacking against the cushioned back.

He had to bite down on his lip to stifle the string of expletives fighting to burst from his throat as Hoffman continued to work at the length of him. He settled for gripping the arm rests so hard his blunt fingernails pierced the worn leather, sinking into the soft stuffing below. It was when he felt the head of his cock brush the back of Hoffman's throat that he fisted his hand in the other man's hair and pulled his head down.

Hoffman lurched beneath him, nearly gagging on his dick, and Peter relented, though only a little. He kept his tight grip on Hoffman's hair, keeping his slick lips wrapped around him as he bucked into that delicious wet heat. He refrained from fucking Hoffman's throat, though images flashed through Peter's mind of doing just that--Hoffman laying supine on the cold linoleum floor while Peter kneeled over him and pounded that smart mouth. He groaned at the thought of it, momentarily forgetting the fact that they were in the precinct and he was supposed to be keeping quiet.

Yes, it was late and he was almost certain they were the last two people left on their floor, but he didn't want to take any chances. If anyone walked in to find him getting blown by Mark Hoffman while he was sat at his fucking desk like some low-grade porno, he didn't think he'd ever live it down.

Hoffman was grunting below him, possibly from his hair being pulled, possibly from the pounding his mouth was taking, possibly from how hard Peter was squeezing his head between his thighs. God, it infuriated him how much Peter wanted him. It would be so easy if he could just hate Hoffman in a cold, detached way, the same way he'd done with every other asshole detective he'd ever been forced to work with. Unfortunately for his sanity, he hated Hoffman while also craving him like a hand-curated drug.

The air in the room had grown hot and stifling, every grunt and moan ripped from Peter's throat raising the temperature until he was sure the thermostat was going to blow. Hoffman was pawing at his thighs, his fingers digging into the fabric of Peter's slacks. Peter continued to thrust into his mouth, the wheels of the chair squeaking as the force of his fucking rocked it back and forth. His pleasure was quickly mounting, stacking higher and higher until it all tipped over and he was coming in Hoffman's mouth with an obscene groan.

Hoffman gasped, his mouth popping open to let Peter's come dribble down his chin and pool on the worn leather seat. Only once Peter was spent and boneless did he release his iron-tight grip on Hoffman's head. He dragged in ragged breaths as Hoffman eased off him, slowly climbing to his feet. His knees clicked audibly and he let out a deep groan. Peter supposed he should've felt bad for him but he was too busy trying to find the brain power to stuff himself back into his pants after coming so hard he'd seen stars.

"See?" Hoffman said, the scratchiness in his voice betraying the carefree demeanor he was trying to put on. "It's not so bad here, huh?"

"Yeah, whatever," Peter said, still trying to catch his breath. He sat up straighter and waved for Hoffman to step closer to him. "Now, come on."

He was perfectly ready to sit there and let Hoffman fuck his face in return. That was how things worked between them, anyway. A give and take. Hoffman could never say Peter didn't do his part.

But Hoffman just gave him an unreadable smile and shook his head. "Maybe some other time," he said, wiping the come from his chin on his sleeve. He pulled those stupid fucking leather gloves back over his hands before making for the door. "I'll be seeing you."

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click, and Peter was left stewing in confusion and arousel. Part of him was tempted to jump to his feet and demand that Hoffman get his ass back here and finish what he started, but then he realised that would be tantamount to begging to suck Hoffman's dick and he froze.

He's fucking with me! Peter silently fumed. Playing with my fucking head!

Well, if that was how he wanted to play things, fine. He could sleep off his blue balls. It's not like Peter cared.

He continued telling himself he didn't care all through the drive back to the motel, definitely not thinking about Hoffman or sucking him off.

[eldritchw1tch]

love is wanting you to be there, a dtcfdp web weaving for @saintmouthed

desperate times call for desperate pleasures by gopuckurself | "everything, everywhere" by @afterawordafteraword | "John Wick Is So Tired" by Kyra Wilder | Tenderness and Love, Joseph Lorusso | "Having a Coke with You" by Frank O'Hara | “Having ‘Having a Coke with You’ with You” by Mark Leidner | Memorial to a Marriage, Patricia Cronin | "John Wick Is So Tired" by Kyra Wilder | Le Lit, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec | "everything, everywhere" by @afterawordafteraword | tweet by @/planetgraves on twitter | Sunday Afternoon, Joseph Lorusso | "Having a Coke with You" by Frank O'Hara | desperate times call for desperate pleasures by gopuckurself