there is no light in this land and the meek echo of ladle-pinned glands cut
tight against my skin and your ties.
there is no light for me to stand against, there is only you, casting silver dollar moonshadows for me to pulse and quake to. if I ever loved you, know that I loved you into yearning and out of simple hunger for sugar. If I ever loved you, know that I loved you as I needed you and every time after has been misrepresentation.

on Saturday I lost my holey limbs to the turntable, jammed my finger down some strangers throat and hollared as he walked away from me, sweet nothings and everyday misjudgements but you said, "paint me neon like the hues of my lady blues as they crush between the balms of my legs and drain me." if I could flower you a rosebud the size of my browning fist and lunge it into the pit of your stomach, I'd hold you steady between the pressure pointed weights of my thighs, lick the sugar from my lips and wait for you to beg me for air.

never let me leave this bed again
tie me steady to the palm of your breath and sift me quietly into a blue dream, leave me candied between the yams of your thighs as my eyes rolls sallow down the slot of your tongue, I am your-count it- 1 2 3- option on this languid roster, number E L E V E N on the back of your ******* mind and number  O NE for the title of 'most sought after and forgotten' tell me, how do you see me. how do you see me. how do you view me. can you even see me? Or is it only during your odd dips and lows when you need new energy to help you feel again. I have to say from level nine to ten, that's how much I hate you and I swear to this dude, I'll never ******' show it.

I'd like to say, now that it's subday,
blessed be the ***** that slits red like the **** laced raven, my chest beats steady like the pulse of you, lily lime green and keen. I am yours.

I am your, mint lean, get to know me but never forget her, I am hers and your story folded over and mistaken.

It's been perpetuated. Archeologically timed, primed and adjusted. I am organically, a tartly steamed wallflower, hair wined from the petals of a dragon's breath, queen of ten sheets all blue and green like the nips of the Chesapeake Bay, tongue heavily cheeked, I am the bulb beneath the shrines of your muck, I am your weak-behind-the-knees, wallflower. The hue you pasted against the fours of your walls and only remember when your eyes trace your skies from the ceiling to your bedroom floor.

I saltened my lips of you, wore brown for days and tried to blend to the earth of my skin. I wore blue lips and combed my hair pencil thin. I painted my lungs red and lathered in the Puritan flow that warmed between my legs to the bitten taint of your neck. I killed your soul with my ashing hands. You said she ruined your life, you say I ended yours by hanging you from the hem of my skirt without ever saying a word.