dripping with nostalgia.
gilded with gold
from the passage of time.
romanticized in afterthought,
idealized until unrivaled with the present.
overcome with homesickness for times
filed away in her memory.
She felt her heart
constricting her throat,
and she quietly
swallowed her spirit
could snake up higher
and mount a pulse of pressure
behind her blurry eyes.
It tasted like
cotton candy dripping with twinkling sugar,
like the smoky air of a campfire,
like blown out birthday candles and dripping wax.
A shattering explosion of memories in her mouth,
leaving her with
From gilded paths,
carrying grey blood, apathetic veins
and red eyes,
with letterman jackets,
sporting hometown glory,
staving off the ordinary,
with the slightly above average,
he holds me, and his invisible world,
within sometimes strong arms.
I carry these midwestern sunrises
in my irises, and I watch him learn
Manifest destiny, and why settling, settling
(down), led wheels and wagons
to this place of nothingness.
I watch as I become his something,
and I know exactly when we stop fucking
and he starts holding the word
love in his throat, like a cough, he blames
the cigarettes (I let him).
From his blue moon larynx, when I recall how
to play coquette and can coax out his clumsy truths,
I can feel him printing-press himself into me.
I know he is learning my melody
to accompany his drumline pulse,
I see my skin turn into his medium,
I see art start to matter.
And could I exist in these cream tones, adding my red,
turning these picket fence pastures Easter pink.
Getting lost (sometimes), stumbling through acidic woods (only sometimes),
I could be his familiar adventure- always.
He’d build us a cabin and a fire he would never let turn to ash (even as we did), and I would never truly understand that our always-smoking chimney meant his forevers as he would never truly understand that my always-muttered poems meant mine. But with goosebumps traveling up our medulla oblongatas, and from different hemispheres of the mind, just perhaps I could carve out a thousand more nights with you. perhaps.
Go quickly, turn the radio up, for the classics.
I want to hear the Aria, and the sweep of the violin and the thud of the cello.
Desire it, for me, so such that my heart beats and sways with the music.
Pull black lace around my shoulders,
and tie my hair up in knots and curl, should that be my desire.
Read sections of Elliot, Ghibran, and Cohello to me by candlelight, barely are our knees yet to be touched,
and I can hear the sound your lungs make in the pauses between the lines,
trying to understand, the very moment of clarity, the writer, concedes to the reader.
Allow my voice to be heard amongst the depth of the inclement music,
despite how quiet it may seem in, that, moment.
Do not call me by my name, I should not desire it, even if for a moment;
it tastes like absinthe, without the sugar, and is bitter and intoxicating and raw on the tongue
and that it would no longer be my desire, but yours.
If I should desire it, I want you to be sure of yourself;
I want your heart to pulse so loudly, it is the only sound you hear,
and your mind becomes unconscious to my form, only my forceful presence.
Tie me up, in shibari; bind my feet, my arms, and my breasts;
use wax, and chains, and leather.
Be afraid, be very afraid, to love me like this.
Place your palm on my back and hold me, like, this.
Be a wall I can cling to, feel my desire for my nails claw at your fascia, at your concrete chest,
let me make my mark in you, and you will feel, good, very oh, so, good about that.
Be slightly nervous, by my desires, but oh so tense and excited.
I want you wanton and willing, but I desire you hesitant and forbidden.
I am the labyrinth, I am a woman, I was not built to be understood;
but bring me rum, bring me braces, bring me your rough delicate touch,
and you will see i was built for Desire.
If I must, I must desire to be enjoyed and entertained, I want you to make me smile, yes, you.
To do this, is akin to going to battle and i want to see you are ready to go to war for this very simple desirable quest.
Feel the stockings on my legs and deem them available to be held between your fingers.
But not yet.
Desire, if it must be met, must be met by me through me, by you.
If I must desire, You must desire it, too
Venus was back to her wicked tricks; I never planned for the way you stole the breath from my lungs, but kept me begging for more. Or what about the beauty in your words? The Goddess of love and beauty could never compare to the way you once made me feel.
I bet Zeus had never thrown a lightening bolt as shocking as the way it felt when you first held my hand. I bet every lover he ever had never quite made him feel as complete as you could make me feel.
But there you were, and like Hephaestus you built me a stable castle for every pulse of my heart. I never felt so safe in such a small room, but now the walls close in and even Vulcan's fire can't match the heat from your embrace.
You were also Mercury, and your quick feet made me trip far faster than it should have. I just wanted to keep up, but our messages must have been left behind and now Cupid's arrows don't quite work like they did when we were young.
I felt like Tantalus when you let the vulture of your mind rip apart my stomach and leave me in sections on the rug. You were the food held just out of my reach and you were the waters I drowned deeper and deeper into, day in and day out.
All around us is silent. Nothing moves. It's just you and I locked in our own world. I can feel my heart pounding. Wondering if yours does as well. Looking into your eyes I see anxious excitement. We are about to break into something new... Suddenly I realize how close you are to me.. Only a couple inches stand between us. Still my eyes are locked on to yours, drawn into your smile. Nervously I step closer, closing the slight distance. You move your toes to stand on mine. My heart drums faster, harder as your hair brushes my face. So close... It's the hardest part. My palms are sweaty as I take your hands, through them I can feel your blood pulse through you veins, in sync with mine. Your chest presses up against me. Slowly, unbearably slowly I caress your cheek, sliding my hand behind your head. Our lip brush. Gently at first. My other hand rests on you back, Pulling you closer.. My heart skips a beat as our lips touch again, pressing together harder this time. The rush of blood making me dizzy as all I know is the feel of your soft mouth. Lost in the moment, filled with want. I can't get enough of you.
film burns behind eyelid mine.
you collapse kind next to me unremarkable.
normalcy yet the heightening suffocation of it awakening
your shoe hits the floor. In my dreams it echoes a rock hitting the window
your shirt sheds itself. The rest follows
perfume waves off his body mine.
you recline naked unshaven chin
chest so thick with initial autumn onset suffocating
rough knuckles scraping palm. His hands stay closed
the nights mine.
where we only fuck with the lights off let eyes focus on the floor tile
learn to say little cover the expanse of the pulse gripping
a twitch between brows. He does not laugh
send him reeling for the medicine cabinet. Okay
he sips water from the glass i relax into absence.
Check your pulse to assure yourself that you are indeed alive and be ready
I’m willing to sell addiction
If the price is right
Instead of crawling on my hands and knees
Searching for a miniscule income
Love is an empty word
That allows me to rip your insides
And still have you apologize for getting my hand dirty
I’ll keep every apology locked away
And stick you on the bull’s-eye
Running from laughable low level law enforcers
Dressed in blue with loaded guns and meaningless badges
Cackling the whole way through
Smiling at all my adversaries
Knowing the annihilation of us both is soon to come
As the maniacal militia stand trespassing in our yard waiting to open fire
The ravaged highways are under construction
Demolishing the concept of one’s self to rebuild in the image of a complete stranger
Unleashing accusations upon unsuspecting stargazers
Underneath the cold thick skin, holding back scorn, plans of vengeance, violent bouts with sadness and ethical turmoil
Putting on a mask of struggling smiles, lung crushing phony laughter
And the tight gripping of tears, the strenuous task that is always present
Putting this act because society tells us to shut up, get over it, move on and forget about it
With no one taking the time to sit down and help someone who is knocking on their impending doom’s door
By going over everything calmly piece by piece
Until it’s too late and there’s dead bodies on the floor of a movie theater riddles with bullets and people choking on some kind of poison gas
The misleading of corporate heads and politicians overshadowed by the distractions of “disasters”
So we can’t see the real big picture
Their whole careers can be light up in flames faster than the forged paper work they put in
Meanwhile the poverty stricken orphaned children look to the neon sky praying to a god who’s existence is debated denounced right before their eyes as if it was a fairytale fable with out a moral
And the troubled youths, the kids being pumped with prescriptions
Hoping someday something will rescue them for the madness within themselves
Request for atonement
Is eradication of an opponent really a triumph?
To expire in a collision
Young and drunk
Cutting deep like a spiteful stab wound
While wearing a three piece suite
Choosing suffering over nothingness
But to fight for the privilege we had in front of us
Disregarding the cost to get there
Detonate the entire thing
And view this vignette from your fallout shelter crossing your fingers that you’ll still be hear when all is unspoken and still undone
Most of my time is invaded by the serenity of black
My boat rocks calmly in the water
Gazing into the reflective surface of the dark
With nothing to interpret, my eyes project
Regurgitating the restless images of trains stampeding into oblivion
Morphing into snakes whose scales glisten but whose eyes are scattered and dim
Into needles that rush through veins in your arms but never catch the sides
You can feel the puncture though it never occurs
And I don’t mark these changes
They are the blade of the fan I catch and follow
Merging with the rest when I close my eyes to simply feel the air
The lighthouse swings around to hurl its discus at me
This beam piercing a prism of anticipation
Bleaching my vision
Allows my colored invigoration to bleed onto the canvas
I viciously paddle until the darkness consumes all again
And I am able to smile in the stillness
Knowing that my throbbing muscles mock the slow pulse of the lighthouse
I walk with a box enclosing my head
And will catch a brief glimpse of the realm in which I am realized
As the liquid sloshes around
I try to convince myself that the density of one box outweighs the size of another
And I try to explain myself
But only manage to drool down my measures of body
My neighbors see this and remember their thirst
But they know that they cannot quench it with my coating
They are not disgusted, but still repulsed
Compelled to hydrate
A pencil works as well as any dipstick
I stab it into myself
In hopes the blood will loosen this thick coat
My scales do glimmer
My eyes scatter the picture
But remain fixed
And from thine lips, the truth
released behind the transparent
glass. Life-body extended into the
mind that's expanded with chemical
imbalances. You have walked
away with a piece of my soul.
Rays of warmth hit to cause perspiration
frozen over by the expectation that,
unfortunately, lives with a heart beat of it's own.
Sending sound waves into my black
The truth rotting away
the enamel due to the barricades
screwed into our jaws.
We must die our complete skulls.
Here is my key. Will you give me yours?
Happy girls don't talk about how they cower in their corners
and open their skins like zippers,
metal teeth detaching themselves from one another,
peeling back to reveal pink throats that pulse and shine
with saliva and mucus;
happy girls don't speak of sad scabs that burn red and
ache with tension, holding the skin back together before
you tear it in half underneath blanket forts made of
desperation, an intimate and private affair that only you
can make love to;
they don't speak of scar tissue mountains that form
under your wrists and create ridges that turn your arms
happy girls don't say a word about the things that slice them
in the middle of the night,
so I keep my tongue flat
like a river stone and
pretend to be a happy