Girl, you're never more beautiful
than when you're crying.

Your hands look good for touching,
I'll feel them with mine.

I sometimes need a bite.
I sometimes bite back,
but rarely.

Speckled crescents cover my arms,
they even creep up my shoulders
and my neck.

I'm black and blue
for you,
as I have been
for time unkept.
Time and time again.

Pour me.
Poor me.

My mother wept.

Sunlash tangles in my eyelights,
my fog breaths up the windshield.
I'm shifting lanes and changing gears.
I'm feeling
good.

A whisper tries to gnaw at my bones,
it begs me to appease.
My foot gets heavier
and I'm flooring the pedal,
matting to the metal.

Tachometer syncs up with my heart,
I'm in tachycardia and falling apart.
I lost my exhaust.
My head won't start.
My wheels are falling off.

I'm a screaming freight knuckle, white training it.
Barreling down
some small town.

I crack a smile and rub my face.

The whisper
still whispers,
and I'm still feeling

good.

I'll touch your blue jeans
without consent.

I'll slide my hand up
the back of your leg and
really dig my nails in.

I'll use both hands
to pull you apart,
to draw you closer and
up against my heart.
Up against my chin.

Shirtless,
skin to skin.

You'll be starved for breath,
I'll be just starting to begin.

Our pace
will race
and together
we'll sin.

Heartbroken I'll ponder
our little origin.

A fashion show,
a shared love of expression.

Come and
come again.