cheeks fill with the fiery heat of an embarrassing fire
eyes close so tightly a pounding ache sprouts from the skull
teeth lock together and lips bleed the more they fight to stay closed
hands press and are drenched in soaking salt as they hide the guilty pain
ears strain at the sound of stupid love songs mixed with ugly cries
lungs struggle to catch a breathe feeling like they’re running faster than they should be
heart alone in its shallow shaft knowing that it shouldn’t be sad when it feels so much love
But the head knows it was better to suffer now than to bleed all over a white dress.
We circle our graves
Without purpose or poise.
As the vultures
circle our bodies,
more knowing and keen.
As if the gods
gave them insight
as to when we'll fall
into a heap
when the spiral tightens.
Like a cat
it needs to prey.
The tiny movements
drive them mad.
I've never felt more alone
then I do
on those nights
when I lay awake
watching you sleep.
The tiny movements of your chest
as it rises
and lowers again.
The predator inside me
bristles with curiosity.
The same madness
that overcame the cat.
And I distantly think,
I know now what drives them.
I must have startled you
because you awoke
and turned on your side,
cracked eyes searching,
When she asks,
"Is something wrong?"
"Oh yes, it's more terrible than ever."
"No, it's nothing."
But it certainly is
She kind of laughs
like we do
when nothing is funny.
Which is fine.
Because it isn't.
fueled by alcohol
the age of consent
and mistakenly stuck doors
the mutual understanding that comes with a singular passion
just one time
but when the clock chimes
and curfewed kisses are few
you take my hands and sing
"i want to know you"
my fingers weave along my glowing screen
praying your given digits will be well received
and when my phone buzzes
for i had tried to not let doubt cloud my mind
but i did not know you yet
and it rarely happens like this
when the clock chimes
my rosy cheeks wait in the cold mist
a note on the table excusing my absence
a pale faced taxi driver goes through the required motions
to take me to your warm lips
with two hours of sleep
your makeshift bed is the port in a storm
and your slight frame is the sort that initially misleads
but it is powerful and exceeds expectations
the sweet sharing of bad puns
and the unexpected "i love you"
the "you have beautiful eyes"
and the mess that is my hair do
i wake you with a warm hand to the hip
and a quick kiss on the lip
reassures me it was the right thing to do
the twang of ukulele
and its warm wood brush over my breast
its hard form against my warm chest
you sing for me
and the poetry that traverses your lips is magic
you have no trouble maneuvering through my wide rivers
and hidden valleys
my small forests
you flip me with ease
a playful tease
tracing racing and running
soon warm water runs over our shadowy forms
because though forever may be spent in bed
the real world obligates us to move
in our travels we find ourselves caught in drizzly public transportation
making our way to the place of your occupation
though we are eating for two
you order three breakfasts
making up for the meal missed
replaced with loving
surrounded by kissing
you drink coffee
a quick pick-me-up
i drink a london fog
to remind me of the sleepy morning
and a quick peck to the lips reminds me of the rest
a test of my willpower
my power to resist taking you then and there
though that may have resulted in your termination
so i resist my considered temptation
i take a slight deviation
for every story must end
no matter how much love
we must wait for blood
because every hook up,
must end with a period.
— The End —