When I kiss him, I swear I can hear the clocks stop their ticking hands and then slowly turn backwards until suddenly I'll find myself standing at earth's edge. My feet bear and now hardened stone, and my clenched hands hold teeth from grey wolves.
his lips, stutter. in slow motion. forwards to under these nervous skies The rocks in the water burn darker like his eyes. They watch me while I sleep, while I dream. Even the sirens cannot ****** me so gravely.
Please
Fill my lungs with his exhales My veins with the waters he swims in. Clench his breath tight in my hands do not let it spill out like the grains of sand
How could I have written 332 poems, filed away in a little cigar box and only two are remotely, slightly good enough? and they all say the same thing that has haunted me for the last two thousand years, the way his fingers haunt my thighs the way his lips tell clocks to rewind.