why does he drag himself back to my pyre,
disturbing the pools of blood barely settled
from our last battle
his body cleaves through red seas
that slowly merge behind him
panting as he hauls,
isn't he tired?
is he so determined to have changed
since our last bloodletting?
he may no longer hoard matches,
but even up this high I hear
the distinct clicks of an empty lighter,
flint assiduously hitting steel,
the soft flicks, a forewarned tempo,
the dreaded count down
He finally brought me the stars,
plucked quicksilver apples from the night sky,
and I devoured them.
my hands hover above his skin
ready to begin a glorious prelude,
a lithe overture
smooth ivory lay beneath my fingertips
where anticipation mounts,
palms tingling, aching to travel
across satin scenery, the supple canvas
my covetous joints crave
the staging of a sacred symphony
to b minor not to be mine
Always waiting for the next breath
that fills my lungs, fills
this hollowness that sits
at the end of each exhale.
It's all part of The Long Wait:
the train platforms, bus stops,
the red lights, traffic,
the weekdays, happy hours,
the grocery store aisles and lines...
the first breath, this very breath,
and the next half a billion or so.
the long descent
further into herself,
arms sore from hefting up
this holy sword and slashing
into the rotten bits
blessed perspiration gathers
along her nape,
upon her brow,
under her swollen *******, and
between divine crevices
You expected a girl,
your own notion of femininity.
You expected me to laugh, to talk,
but only in bubbles,
Wonka’s fizzy lifting drink.
You expected to float
on my wiles
I’d heft you up while you cruise.
Well, you get nothing.
Good day, sir.
I feel the need to fill it all up,
my days, that is,
gather plans and gorge
on seamless social interactions,
slurping up smiles and gulping
down the cool liquid of laughter,
picking my teeth with the bare bones of boring conversation.
I’m an introvert, but time alone isn’t helping anymore.
Alone, I spiral. I starve.
What is the purpose?
Someone distract me from these things in my head called thoughts.
Nourish me, I am dying and I’m wanting it, too.
laugh until my stomach is so stuffed that I heave out another joke.
Talk until I bite my tongue and bleed, eagerly chewing, cheeks
What neon emptiness has driven me here
to the all-you-can-eat buffet?
While I feast on my friends under these fluorescents
my shadows only wait.