let’s pretend that my flaws are my
best qualities.
that you’re dependable, and your
shoulders will not shake.
let’s pretend i didn’t swallow his
nectar.
let’s pretend the marks upon my scruff
originated from my
callused fingers.
let’s pretend i can only ***
with
you.
that your spit wasn’t scratched upon
her pale fat thighs for almost 2
years.
let’s pretend that my lungs are steel,
and my ribs are made of
diamonds.

so if you wanna kiss me tonight,
kiss me hard so i can taste your
mistakes,
with a touch of plasma.
choke me until i’m on my knees,
confessing my sins.
hot like peppers.
cold like the snow we fell in.

we can never return
to that
night.

i. the night you called me over-sensitive was the night
i filled myself with empty soda cans. i attempted to wash away
your scent. 50. 51. 52. times.
it all still stinks of you.
ii. you used to make me wait until three in the morning.
you never apologized. the last time was until four, and you greeted me
with a kiss that peeled my lips off,
threw me against the wall feeding me words and stale fragments.
iii. the night you said you were ******* her should
have been it. instead you held me,
and i imagined her blonde white hair, her pasty thighs bouncing.
you used to say you loved my cinnamon skin.
iv. you want to return to what we were.
but we were never anything except petal filled wishes and
gluten-free mistakes.
v. do not look for me anymore,
i am gone. i will be gone. i will be kissing stars and men with
accents and minds that are unlatched.
do not look for me anymore.

my soma has been your manifestation.
you vanquished unconditionally,
these love (bites)
have been daily aide-mémoires, that this
fever will not break.

flames are within your veins, darling.

i have seen your inner
demons, and what they hunger
for.
your fingers to my wrists, your
teeth sinking. sinking. sinking
(it has sunk, anchors to wrists)

my demons kissed yours in the hours
of lust and the inexplicable.
my demons ****** yours in the woods
withering.
my demons held yours with homely
silence.

it is when i counted your eyelashes
at daybreak
that my demons finally paced alongside
me.

speak strawberries to me,
and i will caress jam
for you.

i take showers at 2:30 in the morning,
because i believe it helps me think and
be O.K. with the fact that you can sleep without me,
and i seep into my mattress petting my cat
and watching sunlight tickle through shades.
i believe it helps me be O.K. with how
you have become my everything.
you are the cream stirred in my coffee every morning,
you are my mornings, my nights,
the dreams i have between 1 am and 7 am,
the bruises i receive from tripping over self conscious
decisions.
i believe it helps me be O.K. with
how i must keep myself occupied when you’re not around,
and i can easily run laps
around and over and around and over,
because otherwise i will feel the emptiness.
i believe it helps me be O.K.
with knowing you will eventually
leave.
and i won’t know what to do
but
sit
and take showers at 2:30
in the morning.

i can taste me as your tongue slips between my teeth.
nibbling on my ribs,
(i think i see the gates)


other men could never stay for very long,
a few licks and they would look up, questioning,
tired.
you stay until i scream,
thrashing, waiting for the demon to finally
be exorcised.

eyes rolling, legs jello,
you do not ask if i have had enough,
and dive back in,

biting my tongue until i taste blood,
screaming until i envelop you.

darling, i know i write too much about you.
(at least 100 poems, at least 50 flash fictions)

and every line is too cliche, every word is
unoriginal.

but it’s the way your vein surges with sparks
as you infiltrate me.

it’s the way your stubble paints me pink and red
each morning.

it’s the way you whisper you love me as we
nuzzle in our dew.

my writing has been nothing but you these past
two and a half years,
and it will be nothing but you for
years and years (and years) to come.

(whether it’s cliche or not)

once upon a time, i woke without your
resonance vibrating through my callused fingers.
once upon a time, i traveled without the constant
and never-ending presence of you.
once upon a time, i could have never remembered the shape
of your freckles, the churning of your irises.
once upon a time, i would have laughed at the idea of needing someone
so terribly, so hungrily.

this time, i cannot blink without the inordinate yearn
to bleed among your crackling pigmentation.
this time, the thought, the mere idea of mornings without you,
are enough to
**** me.

I like coffee after morning ***.

After the unconscious caresses, the fleeting whimpers and moans, the stickiness that lingers between my thighs, the muddle of tangles that nests in my hair,

coffee always tastes the best.

"Tell me a secret."

I cannot *** with my eyes open. (Especially when it’s with someone)

"No way."

I still believe that one day you’ll tell me you love me.

"Why not?"

When I’m driving, I imagine swerving into the other lane. I imagine what color your eyes would be when you find out.

"I can’t."

I cannot let you inside my anatomy anymore, for twice is far too much. Your touch creates asteroids, and I am struggling to place layering upon the craters.

"Tell me a secret."

*Your eyes are still supernovas.