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bucky Feb 2016
you keep looking at me like i’m god-*******-incarnate, babydoll
******* at the rind of an orange i bought you ages ago like it’ll still give you sweetness if you just ask it nicely
here’s the part where we die, me first, telling you something sweet so you won’t feel too bad. here’s where my hand meets yours, curling around your little knuckles like i can’t die right without it.
here’s where our hearts hurt, where they ache so bad it feels like they’re burning.
it’s okay. i don’t mind. i don’t mind, baby, so long as it’s you i’m lying cold next to.
my grave might be empty, and that’s okay too,
we might die out in the bitter ******* cold, heads upturned so we see the sky.
you always loved those constellations, could list them from memory by the time you were six. only right you die seeing them one last time,
is that morbid? i don’t think so, sweetheart. you’re just dramatic, always were, always looking for a fight from me.
i used to love you the way kids do, the way you should, the way you deserved.
i used to love you something special. it’s okay, honey. it’s okay.
i don’t mind, anymore.
bucky Dec 2015
you call me - "baby, babe"
and it doesn't feel like it should
bucky Dec 2015
the bow of your back, taut
sweat sticky
opiated and fizzing,the air stirs
and does not settle
the garden caged between your ribs
cracked and sprouting,paint
fumes sputtering out of your
unruly kind of-
give and take,sway
bring me to my knees kind of

the bow of your mouth, sweet
spit tacky
thunderous and crowing,skin
smelling of smoke and apples
the starstuff wrapped in your fist
aching and bruised,your knuckles
purpling and swollen,wild
unruly kind of-
give and take,sway
bring me to my knees kind of
bucky Dec 2015
it goes like this-
he pulls himself into himself, ribs
collapsing inward in an attempt to become smaller. smoke and mirrors and a jump from a high-rise
he never quite pulled it off, though
he says "brand new, baby
never been used"
holds my hand and tells me a lovesong that ends with:
"and the dust settled."
gripping at my fingers so the bones crack
it sounds more like a confession than a story
and he's never been able to stay still so
he doesnt,
fidgeting away and back, a restless tide
salt licking at his cheeks, and he tastes like a dream
like the ruined rotted boards of a shipwreck
and he smells like smoke all the ******* time. i wanna
romanticize him,
wanna breathe in his lungs and blow out a piece of art,
i wanna dress him up in angel wings
and ask him how close to the sun he can go without melting. split me open
wartime in monochromia, could do this for hours
if i didnt know that it would wreck me. he cant stop
******* open the holes in his jeans, says
he just wants to have control over something. says,
"this is what it feels like to be on fire"
and i believe him.
me: writes poems about people who don't even exist
bucky Dec 2015
luminous and trembling, he
walks like the soles of his feet are made of moonlight, he
***** you like he's trying to tell you something, he
shakes and shudders like he sees something you don't, he
is everything all at once, fragile and overwhelming, a dive without air, he
wraps you up and doesn't let go until he burns alive, he
dissolves in your veins like surgical thread, he
****, he
god, he
could build on this for hours and still be ready to swallow you down, he
cant ******* breathe without touching you, he
lets the sun bruise his back a thousand different shades of pink and still comes back for more, he
calls you when his voice is crackling with exhaustion and sticky with hunger, he
lets you sleep inside his ribcage because that's how he keeps you warm, he
shivers in the dark and wont let you take care of him, he
tells you you're some precious pretty thing as he veers into a ditch, he
needs seventeen stitches and a transplant with a name you can't remember, he
always shatters on impact
bucky Dec 2015
i can still see you there,
some delirious and shining thing
a beautiful ******* with your
lips puckered, your
cupids bow winking in and out of view
sweet for me, i
feel your mouth in my hair
some kind of ghost kiss
whispering something to me,
breath soft on my brow
i can't read as well as you,
i can't read a thousand things and
still have room for more, my
belly distended with the words, my
heart bleeding for it
my golden swan, did i steal you?
did i break into the giant's home and whisk you away,
little bird? i
feel the sugar on your skin
steam rising from the crooks of your limbs
smiling, a gaping gorgeous maw
head pushed back, knees scraping against
the frozen wall
so pretty i might have dreamed you, maybe
is there any version of this where
i don't end up bleeding? (probably not;
but it'll be a lovely fall down)
bucky Dec 2015
in the grand scheme of things, he’s the trees and I’m the river and the stones are always, always covered in blood

2. he keeps looking at me over his shoulder and I don’t know if it’s because he knows I’m lying or if he’s checking to see that I’m still alive

3. he told me I was a god, some free and ruthless and holy thing and I told him he was the sun and we’re both waiting on the test results to see who won

4. he smiles like an animal, too much teeth, gapped and bleeding, too much dirt stuck to his gums, lips sticky and eyes burning holes into me

5. I never thought I’d be afraid of the way the light hits the earth, quietly and all at once, but I am and it feels like I should be on my knees and praying to something I know doesn’t exist for me

6. in the grand scheme of things, neither of us is a bird or fragile or something precious to hold onto, and both of us know this, which makes it worse

7. he isn’t some winged holy thing

8. he hung the stars and told me how lovely I was in the lighting

9. he put a gun in his mouth until I could taste the sting of it, metal coating my insides, until I was the one bleeding iron bullets

10. he handed me his plastinated heart and told me to swallow it whole so I did

11. he said a lot of things and I mostly don’t remember them because I was too busy knitting us together at the seams of our broken bones, two skeletons in the same grave, some kind of poetic fate

12. or, that’s how I’ll say it happened
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