he asked to undress my mind before my body
to know my 4 am thoughts before his fingers traced my hidden skin
he touches me across oceans; drowns himself in all of my layers
whispers that he wants to visit all of the worlds inside of me
slowly, for he knows the wounds are still healing
but he kisses all of your scars
and I hardly think of you at all

you were too much like the bottom of a bottle
4 am; an hour for the lonely and the searching
my head spinning and body drowning
yet somehow alive enough to dial your number
every ring another bullet in a wound
and your prerecorded voice I knew better than my own
every bit as empty as before
yet somehow I thought you’d make me whole

I swallowed your poison for the sake of passion
so you’d see the way I’d do anything to hold your gaze
eyes locked in mine for all the wrong reasons
you’d call me crazy but at least you’re saying something
tell everyone how I’m insane cause you love messing with my head
I lost my mind to all your games but God I loved to play

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

my pillowcase knows the secrest of us
I remember waiting for you and I thought I needed you more than the steady air in my lungs
like losing you would result in my own self-destruction
two days of silence and tears fell in my sleep
because you were the one and then you were a stranger
and just as briskly as I loved you I lost you
and I felt everything and then nothing at all
and I held you for a makeshift eternity
and you were something divine before I remembered a boy is just a boy

He would call me,
at 1 and sometimes 2 in the morning.
For our love was a secret,
too bold for the world
so we would whisper
stories in silence
and yet stories they were.

you probably think you drained me that afternoon
stole the last bit of hope I had that love is more than bare bodies pressed against each other in the dark
but I still have the same fire in me I’ve had since I was six years old
hearing my father slur his words at 2 am while I pretended to sleep, trembling hands and sweaty palms until we make it home
and I swore I’d never choose a bottle and a hollow heart over someone I was meant to love
but if I didn’t need a man then to show me I was worth more than empty promises and inconsistent affection
what makes you think I’d need one now?