We're almost touching.
we were walking side by side,
you're talking about cabs in your hometown.
I can feel the gravity of your hand, calling my fingers
whispering "it's alright."

We're touching but not quite.
you held my shoulder to protect me from the passing cars.
and for the first time in a long while, I felt so fragile.
In this world where I find it hard even to breathe,
you believed me.

I almost said it.
All I need is one ounce of strength to tell you every single thing that I have ever felt about you.

I want to find home in your collarbones.
Would you be kind enough to let a stranger in?
I want to seep in your being because I'm cold.
The world is harsh and my cracks are aching.

Almost.

Collarbones,
Ah, yes.
Collarbones.
Say it.
It's nice,
Even fun
To say.

They're fun
To trace.
The skin on top
Should go in
Slightly,
I think.
They should show,
For everyone to see.

I wish mine would.

I think of you in colours that don't exist --
     that's not to say that I don't think of you at all,
          because, of course, technically every colour exists:
Even the ones we cannot imagine,
   Even the ones we cannot see.
Even the ones either side of the spectrum that light up the notes used for money, not music, because the notes used for money
   are
      not
         always
            real.
Even the ones either side of the spectrum that light up the heat of your body like your presence does the room
      and your eyes do my smile
           and your smile does my eyes;
You tell me that technically every colour exits,
   even if we cannot see it,
   even if we cannot imagine it –

For think of it now.
          Imagine in your head a colour that does not exist.
                    Now describe it to me.
Is it a splash of red with tints of a yellowy-blue?
Is it a pinky-purple hue,
    a hint of green, turquoise, maroon, sapphire, olive, violet?
Does it already exist in colours we already have names for,
      have we lived so long that every thought we think is no longer our own,
            every thought we think has been thought of before,
I think of you in colours that don’t exist
   but so has everyone else.

We cannot see it,
      we cannot imagine it.
But if we cannot imagine something that does not exist
   simply because we are confined to describing it
      in the words of an already existent language,
   what does that say about us?
We can imagine a waterfall of chocolate,
       a glass elevator bursting through the roof;
   shrinking potions and growing potions and talking rabbits.
We can imagine standing on the top of a building
      looking out over the greying city lights
            with lungs full of water
            a noose round our necks
            and the sole belief in our heads that we are jumping to fly
We can rewrite the future and make up the past
We can imagine wizards and witches and fairies and goblins
We have unicorns, ******* it,
     we have God.

And yet when I present to you a lover,
   an artist,
      standing in front of you now,
         yearning to make you his canvas,
You are too scared to fall in love,
              too scared to admit that you don’t have the words in your encapsulating little language to describe the things that you feel towards him.
For he does not need language,
   he does not need words.
He will stand here now,
   in front of you,
      and let you grace his collarbones with a diamond noose,
                          crown his withered corpse in a wreath of daisies,
                          dress his bones in slashes of rubies.
He will tear himself apart for you,
     for you,
     for you to watch galaxies flow out of his veins,
  velvet red blood screaming unwritten poetry,
  a torrent of unimagined colours pouring into him and out of him
          and with his one last remaining breath
              and a trembling hand,
he picks up his paintbrush
      and draws you into orbit,
  and like his fingers used to trace your shattered ribcage
    like the keys of an ivory piano,
he traces the outline of your lips.
And at last you draw breath,
         to whisper his name, to whisper your love, and all that remains
   is silence.
And you choke on the air and sound is still
         for all words exist so none can be spoken and suddenly everything
   is black.
And I think of you in colours that don’t exist
     like the wolf howls in lament of the side of the moon he will never see
          for all colours exist, and when I think of you,
there are none.

                                                      *-j.­s.

Callarbones & ribcages
The only love of my life.
They made me want to strive
They were the drive that kept me alive
As I cried in desperation for their inspiration,
They were my justification for isolation

Collarbones & ribcages
No more dreams,
No more love.
My motives came from a non-existent light above
A light filled with hates and lies.
The lies that struck me like knives

Collarbones & ribcages
Exercise drills and diet pills,
The image that kills.
Because beauty is pain,
Ana will make sure you die in vain

It all began with a ‘he’
he who said I was pretty
  when my face turns sideways and
  the right amount of sunlight casts shadows
  on the planes of my cheeks
he who kissed me in 6th grade
  in front of my best friend – whom he used to date,
  his lips were cool and moist
  moist – it didn’t feel anything.
he who requested love songs during our high school intramurals
  when all of my friends and all of his friends
  cheer us up like we were the sweetest thing they’ve seen.
he who danced with me the whole night of our junior prom,
  my shoes dangling behind him, my arms and his arms were sweating
  he whispers now, “You look beautiful.”
he who gave me wilting flowers on the 15th of February
  because I skipped school – too scared to face the truth
  that no one would do what he just did. He proved me wrong.
he who said “I love you” too late.
he who said “I love you” too early.
He who made me believe that fate, destiny, sparks, forever, and all that *******
  were real, written in His holy book. Should I still believe in you?
he who said would wait – the next month telling me he realized
  it wasn’t me he was waiting for.
he who told me to stay.
he who left. he who never went back.
and oh – he
he who was never here in the first place.

it all began with a “she”
she who danced in front of the class
  with all her sass, snaps, and we laugh.
she whose hair used to be straight
  swaying down her waist, flows smoothly when she walks,
  falls perfectly down her collarbones. Let’s not start with collarbones.
she whose eyelids flutter like butterfly wings
  making the ones inside my stomach dance like hummingbird’s wings
  her eyelashes are thick, outlining her brown eyes – her perfect brown eyes.
she who throws he head back when she laughs
  not knowing I drift and crash back to the sea
  like a wave thrown back by her chuckles and laughter
she who reads and reads tons of books
  when she could write about her day
  and that’ll still be the greatest stories I could read
she who held me close when she stumbles towards the bus station
  when she’s drunk
she who wanted nothing between us – worried it will not work.
but she made the raindrops of yesterday meaningful
  so it could wash off all the hurt from everything, from everyone.
she who changed me. – no.
she who made me face the mirrors I’ve been running away from
  all those lies I’ve been hiding alone
  all those pain, all those bad memories
she washed them all away, like a hurricane
   she dragged my whole town with her
she who made me forget.
she who makes me ache at times but it’s the kind of ache
  you’d gladly take – a suffering worth all the suffering
she who outshined all of – in the best possible way I could imagine
she who made the stars insignificant.

It doesn’t end with a ‘he’
It doesn’t end with a ‘she’
it all ends up with a simple ‘who’
that person who will always come through
for you

I learned that love sometimes doesn’t last that long
sometimes it doesn’t even start at all.
But I know one thing, you cannot fight it.
I don’t know where – maybe in his hands
or in her eyes. It will make you move like you
have no choice at all – like a puppet stuck
******* and down nylon strings
by the puppeteer
dictating your life
like you have no choice, at all.

I have wished for years
That my collarbones would make themselves
Known.
That my muscles would
Atrophy.
And my skin would become
Paper thin.
All for the sake of exposing the calcified lattice
That holds me together.
Holds me down.
I have wished to see my ribs
So that I could better understand the bars that my heart
Beats so fiercely against.
I have wished my spine to rise from beneath sinew
Form peaks against my skin
Just so I can see
What makes a man
What backbone is
See what makes me
Stand
Against those things that I do not desire.
Yet here I am.
Synapses stretched between
Head
And
Heart
Eyes sundered, seeing what my heart can't take.
What my fragile fingers fail to grasp.
I am a graveyard.
Made of stars that decided they were meant for other tasks.
Rub your charcol across my bones
Just to see what stories the universe has told.
For it has lived and died a thousand times, and now
And now, this time around it chooses to call this body
Home.
So although there are days I wish my hip bones would rise like
Mountains
In the desert,
That this soft skin would part and give
Rise
To bones like Aspen trees,
I will accept that my
Clavicles
Are the bottom of the sea bed.
And I am
Mile
Upon
Mile
Of stormy ocean.
Still waiting to explored.

it's the hardest thing in the world,
watching you fade.
I'm waiting until you become dust
all for a more prominent ribcage
and to be able to cut diamonds
with your collarbones.

it's the hardest thing in the world,
watching you cry
in front of your reflection.
your pain is never beautiful
but your soul always will be.
you always were.

it's the hardest thing in the world,
watching you die.
you were always so fragile,
so delicate. I fear you might snap
when I try to hug you close,
with your bones digging into my arms.

it's the hardest thing in the world,
watching you fight.
although, it's not so much of a fight
when you're too tired to
and the winner is guaranteed
and you never wanted to win anyway.

Don't fall in love with a girl who reads.
The girl who feels everything, who dreams, who writes..

Fall in love with the girl you find in a bar. Find her in the squall of smoke and sweat of an upscale nightclub. Make sure she doesn't mix her coffee with bourbon. Love the one shooting tequila straight from a cheap, half-empty bottle. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure it lingers a little too long. Use pickup lines and entertain her with meaningless slurs from a long day and mistakes you know are about to be made. Take her outside and kiss her in the rain because you saw it in a film. Comment on its silliness.

Pull her into a tolerable relationship. Let the months pass by without remark. Then let years pass by unnoticed. Talk about nothing of significance and retreat into it when the air grows stale and the evenings become long. Fight about how the shower curtain needs to be kept closed. Propose a little later because you realize you'd have wasted so much time otherwise. Take her to a restaurant that wreaks of marinara sauce and sheepishly ask the waiter to bring a bottle of expensive champagne. Offer up a modest ring and don't become too concerned if you feel nothing of sincerity or commitment. But fake it, ******* it.

Do these things. Because a life lived in purgatory is better than one lived in hell. She will make it hell. I'm begging you, stay away from the one who reads. Who laughs or cries when she makes love. Who can neatly fold her spirit and spin it into prose and poetry. If she loves poetry, run away. Don't dare to look back. She is to be left alone. Dangerous little smiles should make you shake. Do not smile back.

Do not fall in love with a girl who thinks. Who is made up of magic and knows herself. Do not love the one who knows how to disappear inside of a book or a poem or a painting. If she spends any more than a few seconds looking into the eyes of a sinner, get out of there.

Don't fall in love with the girl who is interested in politics, who feels disease in injustices. Don't love the one who is intense, who is lucid and charismatic. Stay away from the one who has any sense of ambition, of rebellion, or even the smallest hint of wonder in her eyes. Be cautious of the ones who can't live without music. If she can draw, quit, and quit fast.

A girl who reads is one who knows herself; who is sure. She is educated and she is fire inside a bottle of rye. The girl who reads is one who is comfortable with goodbyes. Think about it: she's read millions of novels and each one ends. Most end with the death of her favorite character. They make her think. And she flies through the pages like they are wet wine on collarbones. And she is okay with each and every ending. Sure, she might cry, but she'll wipe her face and pick up another book. Just to do it all over again. Remember this if she ever says her favorite book is you.

She is a romantic and how can you match up to the princes and heroes in her books? She knows nothing else. You can't love her the way those characters could if they were to take shape. She holds a vocabulary that lays claim to her ability to distinguish between the specious and the soulless. She holds rhetoric hands that turn black streaks into the books she loves so deeply. She deserves a man who can hold her hand the way she holds her books. Someone who can write her notes and hide them in her lunch box. Can you write in cursive the way she can?

Please, don't fall in love with a girl who reads. Because a girl like that, you never come back from.

The teacher wrote a question on the board
large enough to see but,
still hard to follow,
in black expo:

If each color had a taste, what would sad taste like?
And the girl with crosses up and down her arm
mentioned once,
'blue tasted like flat soda pop,
cold and a bit too sweet'

The boy with the hair running smoothly over his eyes
pronounced sixty four ways to say 'azure'
and each time,
he tasted the iron of the
hammer that his father had split his collarbones apart

and I cried for each story,
because the color 'blue'  always
tasted like brandy, heartbreak and broken nails

1) We might have met with a hello, and I might have brushed it off by saying "later", but you were patient and waited for me. That's how I came to know of and learned to love you.
2) You keep telling me I was a carat in your diamond, that when I'm with you, you shine brighter and become stronger. Up to this day, you still make me feel so appreciated, needed and worthy, that I have learned to value what it means to live.
3) You adored me so much, that even with dried lips, you never failed to make my day with you smiling so wide at me, telling me over and over again that I'm the one you love, despite me telling you to stop because it was getting a little too cheesy.
4) And when you raised your hands up in the air, cheering me on, I  felt so much support, energy and positivity to get me through the hell days of life. "Long live us," you said. And I cling on to those special three words for the hope of future.
5) To win a race in life, you pushed me on, endlessly shouting "Ah yeah!" with every accomplishment and dream I fulfilled.
6) Being a risk-taker, you beckoned me to venture out with you to experience new things, moments, feelings and places. I never knew I could jam into myself so much in one day, but I did because you were there to help carry it all.
7) Even from our teens, into and past the twenties, I know we'll be here for each other. We've waited for each other for so long; finally we have a chance to be the mornings and nights we dreamed of.
8) When we grow up all the more, we'll understand each other more, and the both of us will change. But wouldn't it be true love already if our love for our changed selves still stay the same?
9) When you danced and took my hand in yours, I swear that was the time when you entered my heart with admiration bursting out of me, feeding my five senses alive.
10) And you were both a bliss and pain of mine. Whatever bad or good you've been through, I felt it all because we belong to each other.
11) Sometimes you fool around, but I love how you can be such a gentleman. Telling me to cover my knees, wear buttoned shirts all the way to my neck to prevent my collarbones from peeking out. But you don't know sometimes I like to see your collarbones, or neck veins. You're only human and I just stare in awe at your jawline, with my jaws dropping so in an unladylike fashion.
12) Who could forget February 14th? The first day you called me yours. I love how smart it was of you to do that; every Valentine's will be our anniversary. You were far away on that day, but you sent me flowers. Polaroids of you holding flowers, to be exact. I love how you were funny like that.
13) And chocolate. I love chocolate. You sang me songs about chocolate. Sweet, rich and just the right texture-- both your voice and chocolate.
14) The time you've spent staying up all night for me and my happiness; honestly was sometimes making me sad to see you weren't getting enough sleep or rest. You sacrificed so much for me, but all I can do is just love you more and more each day. Tell me, how can I make up for it? Appreciating every talent you have and every single thing and detail you created, was not enough. Even this writing is not enough.
15) There are countless times where you danced for me. Til now, you have never failed to sweep me off of my feet. Literally. But that's okay, if I fall. I know you'll be there to catch me.
16) And here is a new era. In the past, no matter how many times you complimented how good I look, I never really took you seriously or believed such words. Who knew a song about calling me pretty changed my viewpoint? At times, I don't get myself too for changing my thinking so quickly, but you still accept and love me anyways.
17) I may have been here since day one or not, I may have been here since the fourteenth or not, but rest assured, I promise you: I will be here until the end. And as cliche as it sounds, or as overused as it is, I'll always say the most raw and barest line of affection: I love you.

dear aries,
had i known what love was back then,
we might have made it last.

dear taurus,
you were always everything
i wished i could have been.

dear gemini,
you are a fiesty, wonderful soul,
i love you dearly, my surrogate brother.

dear cancer,
i still remember the first day we met,
but i cannot remember the sound of your voice.

dear leo,
you are worth more
than your protruding collarbones.

dear virgo,
our horoscopes say we are the perfect friends,
but you are a heartless creature and i am afraid of you.

dear libra,
you are vicious,
picking petty fights over nothing,
yet you are still my best friend.

dear scorpio,
god, what a beautiful, fascinating being you are.
how i always wished to be yours.

dear sagittarius,
i gave you my heart,
and now it has two years
and eight batterings worth of scars.

dear capricorn,
i miss our late night storytelling,
i am waiting on an apology that will never come.

dear aquarius,
we are so different now,
i cannot bear to speak to you.
you are afraid of me.

dear pisces,
whenever i see you,
you take my breath away.

You just can't
compete with
**** Me
boots.

The leather-clad calves
that
whisper "come to bed...
I promise so
many touches"

Cardigans merely dictate
"shoulders maybe...
You  so much as peek
at my
collarbones, and you're
done for,
Mister."

Spoken -
Maybe I would
tease...

"Try only,
to kiss
my cheek
because I'm
on the
boring bus"
(and especially
in your Chamber)

Or so you
would suppose.

But inside this
sweater, I'm
a *Butterfly.

At Shelton High School, some students were outraged to find out, just days before the dance in May, that they wouldn't be allowed to wear their dresses to the prom. A "prom gown panel" was formed to decide whether students' dresses were appropriate — more than 30 of them weren't.

The school told marieaustralia.com that it has updated its dress code for the new school year so it's explicitly stated that prom attire must fall within the guidelines.

The battle over leggings

The new(ish) trend of leggings as pants isn't going over well in some schools.

In April, a young woman's Facebook post went viral when she wrote about her little sister being sent home from high school for wearing leggings underneath a baseball-style shirt. And students at a Cape Cod high school weren't happy when the school updated its dress code this year to ban leggings and yoga pants unless worn underneath a skirt or dress, or with a long top.

... and shoulders and collarbones

Some schools sparked criticism for dress codes that targeted a particular part of a woman's body — like shoulders or collarbones, for example. That's what happened when Stacie Dunn's daughter, a student at a Kentucky high school, got in trouble for wearing a tank top and sweater that failed to cover her collarbone. Dunn called the school's decision "ridiculous" in a rant on Facebook.

And earlier this year in Utah, a teen girl was told her dress for a school dance violated the dress codebecause the straps didn't cover enough of her shoulders. Students in New Jersey also protested dress codes this year, with one carrying a sign that said, "'Shoulders are so hot' -said no one ever.'"

So even as some schools reassess their dress codes, it's clear the debate is far from over. In the meantime, here's our guide to how to handle the "wardrobe wars" with your kids.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth

www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses

You are so beautiful you make my eyes burn
like you are a ray of sunshine-

but I love you more under the moon

we both are marked by craters
deep blue and black under our skin

I traced your veins with my fingers
and I just want to swim in them

I don’t know how many more times
I can write about the curl of your lips
and the way your hair turns at the edges
and about your legs

and chest
oh god your chest

and your collarbones
and the tattoo on your bicep
and the freckle in your eyes
and the dark burnt edge of it all

I don’t know how many more poems I can write
about how I want to love you forever
how I want to take care of you

how much your illness does not
define you as a person of value

oh god I ******* love you

she told me that this is what it was like to be a firestorm,and i believed her.youre not golden sweetheart,
none of us are.we're not meant to look nice.
this is for our eyes only.dont look me in the eyes
and pretend that you dont know what i mean
take me to the cathedral pour holy water over my shivering shaking bones
build a baby grand out of my corpse,honey,its the only one ive got.
dont pretend you dont feel it too
and even if ill never be as romantic as you,at least ill try
at least i wont leave you here
gasoline on pavement,dying the only way you know how
they told me i could be anything i wanted so i turned myself into a gun,
hollow like your stomach when all youve had to eat the past three days is stale ******* bread.
dont look at me like that.
i know all of your secrets and youre the one still forgetting about my jaw,the one you broke.
i see it in your eyes.we both know how this ends
but I wont pull the trigger on heartbreak hills
not until theres more whiskey than broomsticks beating us ******
cigarette **** wrists against a concrete wall,you always were one for a metaphor werent you?
jesus,babe you look so beautiful in this light.would you let me take your picture with the old kodak we pretend doesnt exist?
im sorry if this is forward of me,but i think id like it if you dug bruises
into my throat
loving the only way you know how,and this isnt the kind of love you see in movies
cause its not really love when neither of you can stop chainsmoking for a ******* second
to look at the way the sun glints off hair at just the right time.
maybe if i had sinners hips youd kiss me,just the way i like
too much,all at once.this,you say,
this is what its like to be a firestorm.
we tell people we're just close friends,like in the way real people are close friends,
we tell people that the bruises on both our mouths are just from the red wine,silly,isnt it obvious?
the train station is too crowded.im fidgety
and the woman in the dress sitting next to me is reading a newspaper article about string theory
i wonder if it tells her about the way i sewed my mouth shut one winter
(or maybe that was you.whatever.its the same ******* thing anyway,isnt it,you say.stop ******* smiling at me like that.you know its not funny)
i wonder if she knows that the needle does not have to be very sharp to pierce the skin.
lesson one:stop pretending that youre the dragon.
lesson two:god.god.god youre ******* annoying.cant you keep your ******* mouth shut?i told you not to tell anyone,you ******* *******.if you show up outside my house again ill **** you.
dont leave someone voicemails after they leave you for the subway station. they will not reply.
this is normal.
you called me a narcissistic ***** and i think you were right but at least i think im worth something,right?at least i havent given up on my collarbones,thrown
them away like they're ******* trash.but what i mean to say is,
at least im not like you.at least i dont have a scar on my upper lip.
stop telling me that the ******* is a ******* metaphor,
this isnt a novel and im not a vampire
and last time i checked your eyes were brown,not black.youre not a monster so stop trying to be one.
the woman sitting next to me on the airplane wont stop reciting bible verses but i dont feel any more holy than i did three hours ago.
this isnt a ******* contest.you cant compete with someone to be the most ****** up,god whats wrong with you
havent you read about cain and abel
this will end the only way it possibly can
stop hanging grave markers on walls,cant you see the marks on your fingers
this isnt a ballad for a dead man and i dont mean to be condescending
but i like the way you kiss people,ten days after the time of death
and maybe ive left you too many voicemails at three in the morning
and maybe i stained your pillowcase with whiskey and secrets
but listen up,honey,you need me more than i need you
dont lie to me,you know its true
youre lying down at the bottom of the gymnasium swimming pool
and somehow youve managed to find comfort in it
dear reader:im sorry.im sorry about the mixtapes,okay,you were never supposed to find them and-and ****,ive messed everything up.bye.see you soon,
i guess.

And here am I
Saturday's brain
Saturated and static
Beautifully buzzing with anticipation
Glowing, large, gorgeous
I am rotund and proud
Filled with the blissful tension leading
Up to letting go

My heart, like roaring drizzle
Breathes up through my collarbones
out my shoulders and ears
A steady humming in my veins
My earlobes murmuring
In agreement

I think
I'll break the surface now

“As for Charles – he likes girls. If he’s drunk, I’ll do. But – just when I’ve managed to harden my heart, he’ll turn around and be so sweet. “
“You like him a lot, don’t you?”

The night crumbles to dust as I trace
every single crease, every nook, every edge of you.
I drink you in, you drink cheap wine:
you only kiss me with alcohol in your blood,
you cannot stomach me without
the drugs.
A pile of cigarette ash on the floor,
broken glass. Shattered ice cubes and
cigarette butts.
It’s a scene of decay; you and I
could only survive if you whispered
sweet nothings and I let you gut
me. You lead me on and I always
slip, and touch you and believe
this time will be the time you stay,
this time will be the time you remember last night
morning come,
this time will be the time
I
am
the
one.
It rains the first time and there’s a bottle
of scotch; we play cards; you’re drunk:
I strip you off; tonight you smile; tonight
you will not mind if I touch
your jaw
your lips
your waist
and below
and your heart
no – never your heart.
Then it’s a matter of time.
You always come when you need me and I
can never refuse to be the one
who lets your tongue
explore my mouth
if only drunk
if only for a while
if only for the night.
I’m there. I will do. For now.
I kiss
your lips
your throat
your neck
your collarbones
and down – way down – below
and your heart
no – never your hear.
You twist me round your little finger and I
would die and die and **** and die
a thousand times
to have you look at me and say
I’ll stay tonight*.
My Charles.
No – never mine.

without the memories of playgrounds--
the smell of too many American Spirits
(andsometimesnewportmentholswhentimesgottough)
the taste of chocolate wine
the cold of holy river water
the sting of heartache and hangovers and broken toes
the glow of midnight fires built too high with entire trees
the feel of tears on my sun-scorched collarbones
the sound of e.e. cummings and the poems from our adolescence being read over baking bread at three in the morning
rushing back to me.
i still remember our fears of shadow people and the
too loud screams of *** rock
over men(i should say boys)
who we centered our summer around
when we weren't busy being goddesses.
& there isn't a day i don't see a swing set
or hear the beginnings of Johnny Cash song
when i do not think of you
and hope
that the world will not change you
that the world will not change me
and we will one day
have a practical magic houses
and hostas
that i glare at
while i make tea in the mornings.

There's a sister who floats with hungry collarbones and a razor-edged smile. She smokes sadness when she isn't ready to exhale.

She is beauty in fine art and wrath the colour of thunderstorms; the rain comes when she smiles.

Holier than thou and quick to judge, with antiseptic perception known to bring out the things you were not aware existed.

Addictive, those imprints from her feet will stamp all over you; nimble fingers puppeteering those who fall out of her thoughts.

She is selfish and always leaves, leaves, leaves. She ran away at the first tremor; she did not stay to watch the concrete crumble.

But she picked me up when the concrete friction broke my knees, lashed tyrants with her tongue and prowled behind the boyfriends that came and always went.

This sister whom I project; the image of her I mirror. She is love and laughter and moods that taper and flare.

She is a cluster of persons, a bomb liable to a detonate on a short fuse. She is trouble ailing in the best possible way; her flames light up the shade.

I see myself on a cream white bed, crisp sheets with a black frame

elevated so that when you throw me down, my long hair cascades around my face like a vision of a mermaid underwater

The room would be slightly lit, but only by a lamp of two

The shadows emphasize our muscles, toned and beautiful to each other

The floors are carpeted with something expensive so that when we move our feet it's silent

The bed does not creak and the only sound is a slight breeze coming through a cracked window door with curtains waving softly, dancing in the growing dusk

As I see it, one hand holds you up above me slightly and our bodies curve together

My long slender legs open slightly as my dress falls down into my thighs and piles on the floor

The exertion of my breathing moves the fabric covering my *******, emphasizing my collarbones

I see my arms up together above my head, wrists being held by your one hand as we breathe, panting before anything has really happened

I see myself close my eyes and turn my head a little to the left to shiver in pleasure as you bestow a kiss to my neck

Turning in synchronized motions as you move your head and lips lower, grazing my collarbones and erupting goosebumps down my spine and I turn my head back to accommodate your advances

The hand holding my wrists releases like an octopus releasing ink as it swiftly moves like a cat of prey to the base of my skull

Grabbing my hair, your hand pulls back to tilt my lips up to meet yours, aggressively but sensual and I moan involuntarily

You pull my hair again as you realize it very much excites me

Not everyone can do this, but you definitely get away with it.

Your tongue, as sweet as I remember but with more force than our first kiss begins to explore my mouth. Our tongues intertwine and my newly free hands wander up to your face, through the soft curls of your hair, caressing the perfect definition of your cheekbones and tracing down to the nape of your neck

Down further, unbuttoning more than was before, until your chest I have so wanted to see in person and not just facebook pictures, the marble perfection like Michaelangelo's David

Your beauty makes me want to cry

Your perfection

And you think I am perfect

I disbelievingly place my fingertips upon your perfect skin and you shiver from my touch

Your shiver makes me realize that we are both human and you are not the God I make you out to be

You are though, to me, in this room, so human and so ethereal at once
Growing bolder, I grasp at the incredibly smooth skin and move down your hard, muscular stomach

So incredible

I have wanted this for so long

I let out a moan of desire and approval which you stifle with a kiss

Grabbing my wrists again with one hand you bring them back behind my head, releasing them again to pull my hair back as my entire body reacts, back arching, hips raising up to meet you. I want to wrap my legs around you and have you right there, bring you into me with all the force of my longing and waiting

My hands bring closer this reality as they race to your belt and hastily attempt to remove the buckle

Desperately, you have reduced me to crying with desire for you, moaning wantonly like a ***** instead of the image of sophistication I presented for you not twenty minutes ago before you enticed me to fulfill the desires of my past, the desires always in the back of my mind, lurking like creatures in the deep, dark and forbidden

Satisfyingly, I manage to get your belt undone and pry open the buttons with my fingers, still shaking with desire

I want you to satisfy me, to fulfill the ache for you to be inside of me, loving me, caressing me, idolizing me

Calling me a Goddess as I call your name

That will come later

For now I attempt to lower your pants

I raise myself with my arms behind me, my hair cascading down my back like some sort of bronze waterfall

I stand, still inches shorter than you, tilting my head only slightly as I gracefully bring my arms over your developed shoulders

And press you close

I want to feel your hardness against my everything

I want to bring myself as close to you as physically possible

You are everything I have ever wanted, you are the man I have dreamed of

And tonight you are mine

I tip my head back, hair tickling your fingers, and moan in ecstasy of
the thought of really having you

You obviously don't know what you do to me

But judging by what is between your legs, maybe I do something to you too

I want to be more than a good **** and I feel like I am to you

As the stars appear and twilight turns to darker night, our whispered fears fall out the window and you see me as I see you; perfect and completely ideal in every way

You are my dream, the wish I made upon a star, here in my arms, pressed against me, wanting me as I want you.

My heartbeat sending up an erratic hymnal to the hand tightening around my neck: The same hand that grabbed my thigh under the table. Only God saw. The mouth that asked forgiveness on Sundays is on my collarbones in the park after sundown. It still gives me a stomach ache to think about you. Your fingers wrapped carefully around my throat wasn't the reason I couldn't breathe. I miss it already even though in the moment I wished I was anywhere else; my world was closing in again and I felt trapped. It happened on the same bench where I sat alone in grade school and wrote haikus about birds and waterfalls. Something must be wrong with me for thinking you were a blessing that I deserved.

The swell of your feverish hands over mine.
Sweat soaking into my skin.
I’m clutching every part of you I can grasp,
Every part of you I can fit into my palm.

We’re sitting beneath the hollow tree,
Beneath the ocean of a sky,
Beneath the screaming black-billed cuckoos.

We don't say a word because we don't need to;
Just silent prayers burned between us,
Scarred into pale, malnourished bones.

I look at you as your sloe-eyed gaze
bores into the mountains of clouds swimming above us.

I want to kiss you,
But all I can do is lay my head on your shoulder,
Wishing I could build a home out of your collarbones.

I don't ever feel safe anymore.

Except when I’m forgetting everything, with you.

At dusk,
I tried to unlearn the way the gold in your skin,
Possessed your face in scintillant rays of spots.

I could count each one if I had the time,
But you’re already turning your spine stuffing back away from me,
And skipping back home

Without the bother or concern to look back.

and I would give everything I have to see your eyes light up like streetlamps and you know that time in summer where the steady glow from daylight merges into night time and the breeze dances along the leaves of trees too tall like ballerinas; so gentle if you blink you’ll miss the sway of them? that’s what you remind me of.

you are a glow, an indian sunset and I long to be the sea your sun shine kisses and when your glow transcends into moonlight I long to be the stars who are accompanied by your effervescent light night after night and you know to me you will always be a ******* sunset when you should be rainfall: you pour down on everything I love and leave puddles;  you cause unapologetic floods in the crevices of my collarbones and attach your saltwater to the follicles of my hair and you warp the words on the pages of love letters I never sent and when you fall down my cheeks my teardrops and your raindrops will merge and for a moment we will become one and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. to be one with you. to be a ******* indian sunset in your illuminous eyes.

I keep running through the hallways of my mind and your voice is bouncing off the walls and echoing straight through my chest and there’s a thudding that gets louder and louder, like bongo drums, every time and I’m pretty sure my heart is now a gallery of us, open for public consumption and they can walk along the hallways and appreciate the beauty of our profound love like you never could.

one day you will find someone who melts your heart into your veins until it feels like the oxygen around your body is trapped and screaming for you to try to breathe, try to breathe harder and you’ll scream for them and they’ll stop returning your calls and there’ll be no texts and everything you once had will sink – almost in slow motion, almost as intangible as the idea that I loved you harder than anyone ever could – a ship where you’re the only person aboard and you’ll be watching an indian sunset like you watched their fingertips trace the curvature of your hips for the last time and you’ll realise in that moment that they were your indian sunset and man, don’t you just wish for some rainfall?

The truth of it is-

he's not going to fix you

she's not going to make you forget
the way your father would hit you

He is not going to make your collarbones sprout roses
He will not make you forget how to need

The truth of it is-

She is not a savior
She is not able to fight off the demons in your dreams

He will not make you forget the way your mother left
The bloodstains in the bathtub will still be there

The truth of it is-
This is your life
This is not a movie

No one is going to swoop in and save you

You will have to grow your own wings if you want to fly away