i bury blue eyes in makeup, simple ghouls floating
in the blush of my cheeks and souls set free
in the dark rings underneath my eyes
and i want to write a poem about the time
you told me that my body is an altar,
a holy place to worship
and i want to roll your name over my teeth,
feel the weight of it in the hollows of my chest,
and feel the harmony of it pulse in my veins
i want to feel your fingers beat out the rhythm
of phantom desire on the small of my back –
like knocking at an unlocked door –
and let you pluck the honey and spice from my lips
i want to tell you that i long to move my hands
across the expanse of burning skin on your chest,
and feel your body breathe, woven into bedsheets,
red-eyed and lost in translation
i want you to kiss me with abandon,
pull me out from the wreckage of my body,
hold me like smoke in your lungs,
and let the marrow thicken in your bones
i want to wake up where you are on sunday,
our legs entangled in burnt sheets, your
hands resting against the curve of my spine,
and watch as you sleep, twitching through dreams
i want to be everything to you, i want to fill your blood,
to hold your kiss deep in my teeth, to be the body
asleep next to you on the other side of midnight
but my bed is empty, a ghost town built on
wasted eyeshadow and smeared lipstick
and how could you have told me that
my body was an altar, a holy place
when i was nothing but a mirage to you,
and your love to me, a myth
nothing more,
nothing less
