Your words spit and dribble down your chin,
forcing my hands to reach and catch them
with my fingertips. Silence finds a sultry
kiss within the static we fulfill in.
I hear the grasps in your breath, wrapping
around my neck until we’re both wheezing
for another chance to live. I knew you wanted
me to exhale a puddle of sighs at your front
door before I left without a word.
There’s red ash staining my palms — digging
it’s crimson dust into my lungs ‘til I see
fire in your eyes.
I burn for you.
I feel a chill into my brain, breezing through
the memories I’ve sustained. And the nostalgia
is darker than everything I’ve blown into
your veins, but it still tastes like regret.
Hold my neck the first time we licked
each other’s wounds, and tomorrow I’ll salt
them ‘til they are stone. And in a week I’ll
pick the scab and remember you as a scar.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 1:07 PM UTC
Your words spit and dribble down your chin,
forcing my hands to reach and catch them
with my fingertips. Silence finds a sultry
kiss within the static we fulfill in.
I hear the grasps in your breath, wrapping
around my neck until we’re both wheezing
for another chance to live. I knew you wanted
me to exhale a puddle of sighs at your front
door before I left without a word.
There’s red ash staining my palms — digging
it’s crimson dust into my lungs ‘til I see
fire in your eyes.
I burn for you.
I feel a chill into my brain, breezing through
the memories I’ve sustained. And the nostalgia
is darker than everything I’ve blown into
your veins, but it still tastes like regret.
Hold my neck the first time we licked
each other’s wounds, and tomorrow I’ll salt
them ‘til they are stone. And in a week I’ll
pick the scab and remember you as a scar.
Request permission to use this poem