Nothing as Stupid as a Love Poem

09/15/12
-for my version of the scientist

This is a fantasy.

Kiss me, teeth scraping
along the curve of my lips,
blood beating deep
within my ears, flush
staining out across my cheeks
as I fist my fingers through
your hair
and pull you to me.
Grind me, hips locked together,
limbs sprawled out across the bed,
breath heaving as I claw my body open
in an attempt to reach you.
Taste me, tongue kissed behind my ear,
the sweat of your skin imprinted
along the fabric on my shirt,
chest heaving,
heart strangled as I slowly allow
you to start stripping me bare.

I need you to fill me, break
me down, bones locked to
the mattress,
heart slowing from your weight
stretched along me.

This is a fantasy.
Because when I wake,
you're no where closer to being
in my arms.

Monday's Lover

Monday is forever coloured in the shade
of somebody else's kisses,
painted blue along the white bones of the cheeks,
the budding flush running along the ears,
marking the face of a child caught
in the trappings of first love.
I only remember the soft whisper
of your hand, velvet in the ever tightening grip
of my fingers,
bubbling purple in our embarrassment,
broken light scattered within the strands
of your hair, alight with a fire
neither of us really understood.
For it was Monday morning,
cobalt upon the wire edge of summer's pale wings
as they beat against the mesh
of your bedroom window,
hands clutched together, eyes closed,
door locked with the damp air
soaking through my anxiety,
both of us laid back upon
the rotting frame your bed consisted of, trapped
in the embrace of Monday's lover's
kiss.

That Night

What if I could taste

the broken memories of that night

against my tongue,

sticking to the roof of my mouth,

fighting the forbidden desire

to swallow,

to assimilate you

within me,

buried within the squirming

silence of desire,

swallowing with a gulp

the fantasy you've brought

the dreams you've played,

spun around my neck,

designed in the wish to garrot,

replacing all my fantasies

with your reality,

crying, sobbing,

crawling through the sheets

and falling off the bed

with a clatter of bones

as they break

all connections between...

Red Sunflower Desire

I can remember
the first time I split
this earth open,
locked within the blooming
garden of sunflowers that
formed the upstairs bathroom.
I told you first,
almost begging, asking about
how I should tell our parents.
You dragged me downstairs
and pushed me forward,
spilling forth with the news,
as we all sat there awkwardly,
my small frame I was already beginning
to hate; buried beneath the blue folds
of my bathrobe,
underwear pressing tightly to my skin
as if to brand me
with the red secrets of shame that
I would carry throughout
the years.
I checked off day one immediately,
beginning a regular cycle
of forgetfulness and inconvenience, for
I can no longer count
between the lines in my memories,
a stack of pads sitting
on the polished wood of the
kitchen table as I rush out the door,
breaking apart once more
as my cells and priorities
rearrange themselves again.
I carry no quarters
and spend my days hunting for
toilet paper, stealing pads from under
the sink at other people's houses,
cursing this body
with its ugliness and the blood
it oozes.
Cursing the unjust actions of the
unaware public
as I stand there ready to cry,
staring at the shelves
of a Chinese supermarket, every time subtitled,
debating and counting my money
because I need to have enough
to last me for meal money
till I make it back home.
As I stand there,
yet again no change, no machine either,
only my trusty friend toilet paper,
crinkled and uncooperative,
as it bunches up when I try to go
back to enjoying the movie,
As I lay there,
surrounded in the filth of my own
making, staining my bed,
my safe zone turned into battle grounds
with the blood trailing
down my thighs, out across the sheets
and deep into the mattress.
There's nothing left of that
fateful October day
as all my fears and desires
were confronted by the flowers
blooming across the walls
to match the red blossom
on my panties,
and I know,
this feeling of self-hatred
needs to stop.