I long for darkened dawns followed by lustrous fingers,
the caffeine in your blood, the ripe plum of your veins.
I am the aching limbs and tiger-striped hips,
cracked lips in welcome of lover’s touch.

You held a damaged girl
in your arms,
only to let her fall
and shatter to pieces.

This is one of those rare nights
where i just want to be alone,
and feel safe in a blanket of isolation
rather than unraveled and bare,
where others can see me.

I am your showgirl,
the pretty one
with a sleigh-bell laugh,
whom spoke only when spoken to.

I am your accessory,
arms around my waist,
to add to an image
already destroyed by reputation.

I am the prize,
the trophy,
the girl you have touched
and the one you have kept.

I am your girl you rung
the morning after,
your selfish pleasure,
the first call
when you're in need of satisfaction.

I am your object,
your porcelain doll
with moon-shaped eyes,
you keep in a cabinet
for all to admire.

As not only was i beautiful
in your eyes,
but also possessed
a public attraction
worth using for yourself.

I tend to imagine myself, 15 years from now,
Being one of those sad people you see
In the corner of cafés,
Pouring whisky into their coffee,
pathetic,
Drained.
Bags drooping from their eyes,
Adding another 20 years
to their tarnished appearance.
In some low income career,
No friends,
No livelihood.
Just themselves and a dingy apartment,
Cigarette butts scattered
From an overturned ashtray.
What sad expectations,
I set for myself.

I’ll ring you late,
about ten.
“sure”
you’ll say
and we meet
at the coffee shop,
old,
wallpaper peeled
on each side,
but my favourite.

One,
two coffees,
soy latte for me,
mocha for yourself.
We wander down
abandoned roads
unsure of the destination,
but sure of ourselves,
as we are lost
in conversation.

Cigarette smoke
in air,
and heartbeat quickened,
i feel my love
for you grow.
Yet how can I love
when it is not returned?
Why am i stuck
to my emotions,
grounded by will?

Heartbeat is racing now.
I want to kiss you,
hold you,
the air is cold
and I wish to be warmed
by you,
and only you.

I expect it to be like I see in films,
that I would be able
to call you
tell you I am so alone,
and within minutes
hear you knocking at my door,
only to press me against a wall,
your lips tracing patterns
along my neck,
and down my chest.
Have our bodies
create words,
apologies,
our mouths were unable to evoke.