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Lauren A Todd May 2015
If I close my eyes long enough,
I can see you at the stop light
With your arm out the window.
And the shape it made, took me down.

If I close my eyes long enough,
I can see that mouth
As you bring your cigarette up for a puff.
And the shape it made left me limp.

If I close my eyes long enough,
I can hear that laugh as you lean out
Long enough for me to read what your face wrote.
And the sound it made, shook my bones.
Lauren A Todd May 2015
Can you see the water dripping from your mother's mouth?  
It's been giving you life since before your father ever took a sip.
And at times, it scorches the prints right off your fingertips but you still have the same blood.
This same blood, which mixes with the water dripping from your own mouth, turns to wine as your lover grazes each corner of the lips that always turn down.
And as they purse into the softest circle, you remember the way your mother smiled with her mouth, full.
Lauren A Todd Mar 2015
Step into your holy church and rinse off the nightmares that come in the dark. Partake in the communion of wild saints.
Sip the water trickling down your cheeks,
And maybe you think of biting off a bar of soap in case it will cleanse the unholiness of your insides.
Shed off those dead layers.
Step into the sanctuary of immaculate reconciliation.
Go forth into a new day.
Repeat as needed.
Lauren A Todd Jun 2015
All the hungry eyes
Are pulled to the center set, roaring fire.
She seers excitement and anticipation
Onto cold skin.

But the outlying glow
Of the saucer eyed, girl
Scaling the rim of each room
Can also spread warmth
Wich may even reach your bones.
Lauren A Todd May 2015
Read me O'Hara
As we sit on the Seine  
And I'll swirl my toes in perfect circles
While I watch your shoulders rise and fall.

You'll stop for a cigarette
And I'll beam, remembering the poem
I wrote solely dedicated to the laugh you
Make while you smoke.
Lauren A Todd Mar 2015
In 1860
A lawyer stated,
“You are what you eat.”

He could not have known
How I ingest each word
As it falls from your mouth.

I devour each look
As you pretend not to see.

And as you laugh to yourself,
I find I've lost my appetite.

When you enter a room,
I’m lost in the feast
Of loving you.

And with each touch
I shiver with hunger.

But when you peek
Through the length of your eyelashes,
I am full again.
ink
Lauren A Todd Jun 2015
ink
And when the ink of the night
Locks your eyes shut,
Remember the light
For you are not done.
Done give up.
Lauren A Todd Apr 2015
Midnight mist
In my hair
Breathe deep
There's no one there

Midnight mist
In my mouth
Sweep it up
Relieve your doubt
Lauren A Todd May 2015
Tiny, little friends
Share tiny little secrets
As the symphony of laughter
And squeaking swings
Stuff the afternoon.

Tiny, little waves "Goodbye!"
Through tinted chariots
Whisking them home for the weekend.

And in twenty years
When the weather is irresistible,
They'll take their own tiny ones
For a walk.

When they stroll by the playground
And hear that symphony of laughter
They'll remember tiny, little Sarah
And her tiny, little secrets
Wondering how her littles wave "Goodbye!"
Lauren A Todd Apr 2015
"The stars live on your arm."
He traces the outline of Orion on my milky white skin. Each freckle forming a constellation. And you force my fingers into the universal sign for affection.
"I love you."
Say your fingers. Says your eyes. Says the way you can't even look at me.

I know,
You know,
This isn't the end.
Lauren A Todd Apr 2015
Liar, troublemaker, cheat:
All names carved into my bones.
But I left that knife protruding from my arm
For all to see.

And after suffocating their own names in stacked lungs
They’ll point and blame, and twist and turn
That knife in my own arm
For all to see.

With shattered bones, I am left quietly
Under your doormat
Only to be used for the cleaning
Of ***** shoes and welcoming strangers
For all to see.

Liar, troublemaker, cheat:
All names I’ll drown in the bath.
Washing off the dirt from your shoes
And the filth of blame,
I’ll take out that knife
For all to see.
Lauren A Todd Jun 2015
"Oh Lord Jesus," breathes the mother, as the old man tinkers away at her ice cream truck.
And her sons play in the yard, unaware their breakfast hangs in arms of the old man.
I whisper my own plead, observing from my porch,
"Oh Lord Jesus."
Lauren A Todd May 2015
May each mouth
That has touched yours
Lead you to mine.
For they have taught you
The art of slow.
The eager lips of young love
Pale compared to
Those seasoned enough
To savor each movement
As if it were their last meal.
Lauren A Todd Jun 2015
They call a certain part of the night,
When the darkest ink lays before dawn,
The Witching Hour.
And in every corner of this room,
I hear echoes of my whispers to you.
Phantom limbs intertwine,
As if it were November
And like clockwork,
You'd hush my words
With sad lips
Knowing I'd be left here in June.
And when I feel the weight of your chest
Heaving with lavender,
Just know I'm still strong
In this Bewitching Hour.
Lauren A Todd May 2015
It was winter of 2014
And you dyed your hair navy,
On accident of course.
But you liked it.

And you lived for the nights
Of turning around the lake
As the moss dropped
From the tangles of your hair.

And the moon shone
In the haziness of your eyes
While you played back scenes
Through the screens of your eyelashes.

There was a groaning which lived
In the cavity behind your lungs
And sometimes it would stretch so far
The cracking of your ribs
Would fill the deepest silence.

And one morning,
He stretched to stroke the length of your cheek
But the weight of that look
Shook you back.

I'll never forget.
Lauren A Todd May 2015
There was a drought in our home
All were left dry to the bone
Rather than taking careful measures
You carried me up the mountain
To drown me in the sea of trees
Inspired by the practice of ubasute
Lauren A Todd Mar 2015
As the lights turn on
The people trickle out
Along with their facades
Even mine, even yours.

And we're left to face the mirrors
As we wash off the day
That no one really cared to hear about.
Even mine, even yours.

So we give ourselves a talk
While furiously pointing  
To naked reflections,
"You are glorious."
Even me, even you.

Than we'll nestle into our beds
With the single light of false color
Scrolling past while chanting,
"You are better."
Even me, even you.
Lauren A Todd Apr 2015
All the little cars pull into their little church
As concrete steam slyly reminds us of the temperature.
The night sticks to the bottom of our feet
While the sins of Tuesday
Stick to the palms of their hands.

And all the pews are filled
With the drooping eyes of tired members
As they beg their minds to
Absorb each word of “wisdom”
Offered from the mouths of the “holy.”

Censure seeps from the sideways glances
As the mothers move through the lobby.
***** water spills from their mouths
While the laundry is aired through lofty sighs.
As if they, themselves had no other chores.

Little girls hide from those mothers
Pretending straws are cigarettes
While yelling at invisible boyfriends
As if somehow that is the mark of maturity.
But how else should they play “grown-ups”
If not by mirroring?

Pulling away from their shrine of insolence,
Those mothers point at me across the street.
“See what happens when you don’t stay in church?”
They’ll say to their daughters
Because I no longer pretend straws are cigarettes,
And only siren songs are heard from these lips.

— The End —