I was looking forward to letting
my hair fall from my shoulders and
spill and curl along the pillow
with such lithe, you would swear to me
that you saw dark lily and poplar
bloom from my tendrils.

and you would have showed me
how your demons had twisted your back
and placed it backwards, forgetting
you weren't a contortionist, asked
of me to push the knots out,
and in melting curls of words,
slurred to me a string of purrs

coated in breaths of gin, how the light
catching my face from the ceiling fan
in the motel room makes going away
feel a little sweeter than you expected,
but it's the feline-like grin I give when
I am trying to be cheeky but meek
with my hands contouring your lumbar,
that gives your spirit a little more life.

and there's a chance I would have
scraped the pride from my teeth,
tilt my head over the end of the bed,
and let you eat my heart
out from my mouth,
had I learned sooner that
even the hungry for adoration
have to feed it, too.