your love like molasses

darkness behind your eyes
black hearts in mine

hands slipping sweet
around my waist

when we part
my fingers sticky

You were fleeting,
like a perfect photo passing you by
on a long car ride,
the one you won’t forget about,
at least for the next few miles.

But I guess that’s what happens when you’re in transit,
you meet people and you let them pass you by,
because it’s not the right time.

They’re so beautiful-
maybe for just that moment,
and maybe even more beautiful than the ones who stayed,
because you know they’ll be gone soon.

Like soft serve sliding down your hand
in the heat of an afternoon,
there was a sense of urgency
to your sweetness
that only I could taste.

you and i are like
the words on this paper

they’re all unfinished
sentences with no periods

a boom-a-rang
with out a room

you and i are
sinking fast

bottom of the ocean
bottom of the bottle

you wrote the book
skipped the last chapter

silent but fast

sequel

a girl gone sad,

haven’t you had enough
of being had?

I keep count
of the words
you haven’t said.

You sent
two pictures,
instead.

For your silence,
is not close
to deceiving.

And I shall not rely
on all those
mixed messages,
and how
they’ve left
me feeling.

I’d like to say
good-bye,
but now,
that sounds
less
then appealing.

I think kissing
is the easiest way
to get to know someone.

The insides of their lips have hold
of every word they have ever said,
or ever will say.

And doesn’t that say more
than a hand shake or a hug?

The pressing of my heart
to yours
is more like feeling
of the weight
you surround in me.

Your thoughts
on the other hand,
can’t be held
by my hand at all.

The insincerity of a hand
can only be told
by the doors it holds open
and doors it slams shut.

I keep biting off
more than I can chew.

Apple juice dripped
between the seams
of my fingers.

Cold chills
ran down my spine
and I wanted to hang
onto something,
but nothing was within reach.

My memories
got the best of me,
but don’t these photos
make it look great?

Sparkly blue waters,
freckles on your face.

I hope at the time
I thought it was just the same.
I lost track of the
coffee trips,
lips kissed
and debts paid.

We made safe spots
out of living rooms
and bottles of wine
something to wash down
our problems with.

Blankets like bowls,
would always be shared;
I never thought twice
about how much you cared.

More like family or lovers
than friends-
it would seem.

While we make messes
of the night,
the time stamps on
our messages became
less relevant
and all that would be resolved
was what bodies would be tangled at dawn,
and then held up in the
morning light
and felt.

A soft bellow blooms
where your hand meets my skin.

Every nerve ending awakened,
like the striking of a match.

An unripe fruit,
not yet sweet
on my lips caress.

Beneath an unmarked grave,
here I will stay.

With each step back you take,
I gather more dirt upon my chest.

Hushed tones,
a song still unwritten.

Your affection,
a dripping faucet
I so thirstily lick from.

Heart shaped locket
that I shall never open.

Not so lightly do I look for you,
at night in the moon and
in the morning with my coffee.

I find you not in songs,
or in the scent of fresh laundry,
but in the shape my body makes
when I feel most happy.

It all pours overhead,
a crashing wave of guilt and hungering lust.

Innards feel like fingers pruning,
sitting at the bottom of the shower for too long,
plugging the drain, watching the water pool.

Rose colored glasses, those aren’t for you.
Cerilian blue sadness, how I weep in mine.

Grab hold of yourself,
see what they’ve all seen so clearly.

What they’ve all said before,
does feeling have a memory?

Does that feeling ever like to sneak up on memory
and hold it by the neck
with a knife
and a threat.

Puncture it,
fill it up with blood.

Latching onto it’s victim,
creating crimes of agonizing nostalgia.

The kind that wakes you up at night
but then turns on you,
keeps you pressing the snooze button,
the same things you want to forget, you want to remember-
your thoughts,
a cruel crime of forever.

I was dancing on a coffee table
last night and I was so happy
I almost started crying
tears of tequila and realization,
that I am more than enough
for me.

My hair spinning to the beat
and my skirt catching
in the breeze.

I’ve been overplaying
the same Drake songs,
thinking he wrote those lyrics
all for me.

And it’s crazy that I might let
you believe you have ever
had any hold over me.

Lying on a bed but maybe it’s not your bed,
maybe it’s the sheets sticking to your back and twisted around your ankles, contacts taped to your eyeballs and waking up at noon to his whiskers kissing your forehead.

Our relationship sitting in a car
of a parking lot,
my body tangled in your arms.

Around the country
and your grandfather’s house.

It would rain
a lot
and so,
we would drive.

You used to look away
from the road
and into my eyes.

A cup of coffee
and a squeeze of my thighs.

I used to love you so much,
and now I just drive.

love will tear you apart- make you bleed on the floor. it will be the very death of you as you know you. a new season is being ripped open with the force of an angry 6 year old on christmas morning. there is no going back, no round trip to this breaking away. you are forever separated by the glass door you have just exited from, free from the chilled air inside but now you begin to melt like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day.

love comes crashing down in waves of hate. hate so potent you realize all this time you had forgotten what it meant to be completely drunk on an emotion so negative, your teeth will ache with longing to sink deep enough to break the skin.

but once its over- that’s it. the wind will calm and the tide returns to normal. small waves flow in and out with the eery silence of mourning- not loud enough to speak of. your quiet weeping remains though the crowd will have left by now, no longer entertained by your sorrows, no more pity left to hand out.

She was *******
a pair
of earphones,

in hopes that
feelings
could be drowned out

by some

beating
on her ear drums,

or some

smacking
of her thighs.