Heartache! My God, heartache! There has been so much of it since last year’s snow fall. Lapses in time! How I’ve longed for this, a deceitful memory; one where your face becomes a blur to eyes that once engaged in simultaneous worship with hands and knees and mouth. My God, how this mouth has failed to hold back words of longing. I have been trapped in unapologetic desire, hands and feet in chains and always at your mercy.

When my father showed me just how rough a man can be with his fists, I wish I had listened sooner.
Maybe then I wouldn’t have waited twenty years to finally stop living as a victim,
to meet someone who would effortlessly show me just how soft the world can be.
Bonjour, tristesse, you had whispered.
You don’t have to smile if you don’t want to.
Don’t be a marionette to the system.
You are not the sum of all the wrong that has been ****** upon you.
I never want to hear you say you’re sorry.
Blue eyes, boyish features. Highlighted by a tenderness only a woman can possess. You’re as pretty as you are handsome. Cigarette on your lips, a vision of a rebel
who spills compassion like wine.
You planted something in me that continues to thrive long after you have left
You used your bare hands, soft as they were, and I could tell from the start that they were going to be strong enough to pin me down when I needed it.
I used to walk around baring a sign that read "handle with care"
but I wanted to feel everything with you.
And when I wanted you to be gentle, every day was Sunday morning.
My body was a pyromaniac’s playground and you were the first one to stand over me and never hold a match.
You have tamed my violence and in its place,
ignited something that burns bright but slow
Brightest when the Earth is dulled by winters,
Slow when the sun is draped by the velvet blanket of night.
I am a child again, sitting around a campfire, the stars are bright.
I can count the times I’ve seen the inside of a hospital room on one hand.
His hands have never tainted my body.
I don’t utter the words "I’m sorry" every time someone asks me to introduce myself
I have known warmth,
I will continue to know warmth.

I feel like I should be moving forward but I have been in retrograde ever since my soul looked at you and kind of smiled, kind of went “oh, there you are”,
and I had to run because I knew my mouth would not get me out of this alive

It’s not right but it’s not wrong either
and now the whole world is a grey canvas
with subtle shades of blue
I wish I was colour blind
I wish I didn’t want to kiss your face
and send you every thank you card ever made
for making me feel like a human being
who isn’t all walls and sky rise buildings strategically blocking the sun
but vulnerable and warm and thriving and willing
and open
I want to be open
but I will sew myself shut
and trap the ghosts between my thighs and in my ribcage
and put up a “warning” sign:
to all future visitors,
I will never not admire you for your curiosity
you want to be a connoisseur of skin and quickened breath
a connoisseur of just how far down the road you have to travel before you make them gasp **** in that tone that’s halfway between a shout and a whisper
a connoisseur of just how many words you can make sound *****
if they’re coming from a pretty mouth
I will never not envy you for it
I will tell you about a time in which I relied on it to feel alive
instead of checking my pulse on the metro
How it made me feel like a child again
it's summer time and I am in the yard in a dress with a print like the flowers
and you're bending me over the swing set

to all future visitors,

you can stop for a visit
I don’t mind
you can enter at your own risk
and you can enter if you don’t mind
playing with yourself

“Tell me if it burns” you said
“Not after this” is what I want to say.
No, never.


But my mouth hasn’t moved.
46, 47, 48.
The seconds crawl like my skin
I haven’t spoken for almost a minute.
I smile,
the curve of my lips put you at ease.
Good.

“No, not at all.”
Your hand inches forward, fingers slim like sharpened knives
I am reminded of my mother’s favourite kitchen set.

“Keep going.”

It was not an affair of the heart, or of the emotions. It was an affair of the body, an experience, an innate response to loneliness. I do not regret it, but sometimes I tell people I did. Mostly because they do not deserve to know how extraordinary it was. And mine it was.

Down two klonopins with beer
Tuck yourself in & stare at the walls
You can't help but think,
"this is no different than all the nights I've tried to sleep sober"
"But this will be the last time"

Dying is perceptual.
People die all the time.
They stop answering their phones, they break old habits and take a different path to the closest bar.
They may even stop going to that bar altogether.
They do all of this while being re-born to other people.
Flesh against flesh,
A new home that rains honey in a thunderstorm.
There are no lightening bolts, you should know you struck them one too many times.
This is how you **** someone
And this is how you set them free