spaces

there's the cool air that hovers in my vision as you slow your hands, run them along my skin, my jeans, touching, just touching as you pull back and gently return, just touching me. and the anticipation crawling along my skin by the time you hit me is almost better than the pain itself.

everything is blurry here, as i shudder, collapse and cave inwards to myself in a mess of desire, of what you do to me, what i need from you. i would will this piece to be nothing but the truth, not even confession for i am years past places of shame, long before i met you. i do not know how to write this desire crawling along the dark spaces of my bones though, the hollows of my neck as you bite me, the curve of my ass as you spank me and the tug of my hair as you grab the strands and pull. for it is almost impossible to write the lines between fiction, fantasy and fact while the embellishments fester within these spaces. i would will myself to attempt it though. even if i do not fully understand it, even if i do not know where it started from.

there were the lines of my nails across my neck, face and arms in an attempt to cool the matter as i broke down, claw out the blood, blink and move forward, breath shaky through the moment. and the pain is sweet, barely crisp, possibly razor thin as it stings it's way along my skin and fade quickly. i repeated the process, each time the pain duller than before until i could no longer use it as a method to cope.

there were those nights in the dark, computer screen lit, paperback open, jean unbuttoned as i lower myself back into the curve of the bed in fascination. i am unable to recognize this though, even though everything has been building towards it. i allow myself to think of all the things i could do to him. and don't worry when the fantasies are fleeting and brief for i have not yet recovered from the idea that i could be a sexual being, something desired and to hold desire for other people. 

there are still those poems i wrote for him, though he has never read any of them and i have no intention of having him do so. the curve of the words are dark, black in the emptiness and the belief that i am broken, that maybe he can fix me, that i could be happy being anything he wanted me to be, a doll, his girl, a fuck toy. that it would be enough even if he didn't love me if he could just physically hurt me rather than allowing me to repeatedly break my heart in the shadows.

but still, i have never used the pain and the anticipation to harm myself, other than in self-depreciation and fantasy. and this i am proud of.

i can still remember the first time you kissed me. and i say kissed me rather than we kiss due to the fact that i did not know what to do. you're smiling, in a way that breaks my heart now, as you slowly close the gap between us. i do not remember if you had both your hands on my hips, or one in my hair or cupped against my cheek. only the sensation that i am falling and never want it to stop as you tell me to open my mouth a bit more and kiss me again. i grip your shoulders awkwardly and when you pull back i am both disappointed and relieved for i have no idea where to look now.

i think we've kissed five times now, though i'm not sure. but i text you and say that we should make out, setting the time for when i see you tomorrow. we spend the first part of the night dicking around at denny's until the moment comes and i am too scared to make a move, forcing you to. i ask if i can sit on your lap, overcome with the ever growing desire to try and climb into you, as if it could be possible to remove as much space between us. and when i ask you to bite me minutes later out of instinct it's all i can do but gasp and moan as you do, the bruises blooming on my neck at the end of the night  spectacular.

for this is subspace

the hollow ring of my breath in the air, the clawing of my body in an attempt to open myself wider for you, the whistle of air before you bring the belt down and the shudder that overcomes me as i allow it to take me over. deep enough that i can't explain the pull, the desire of it all for what you give me, even though that's all i wish to be able to do. i want you to hurt me, please me, break me. break me.

though this goes both ways as i give and i get. for i've never had any fear that i'd get hurt, either by myself or by you.

rhapsody

and within following

a rhythm of striking gold,

I am picking all divisions

of my body bright,

blank skin along 

a canvas, unshorn hair

matting against my skull,

spots of blood

and surviving murmurs

of your kiss upon my collar,

staining black, blooming

wild forms of joy

and gratification as I watch

my shadow unfurl

in your mirror,

with a grin and a laugh

as I lift up my arm to touch,

nails raw, and inch forward,

slowly,

my lips soft against glass

in rhapsody.

Set Me on Fire

“Do you hear that?” you asked.

“Hear what?” I asked as I reached for your hand.

You stared at me and for a moment I wasn’t sure if you’d take it. But slowly you reached forward and laced your fingers through mine and the beat of my heart intensified. “I don’t know,” you said, “It sounded like thunder.”

“Do you want to turn back?” I asked, even though that was the last thing I wanted to do. I watched you as you bit your lip in silence while the wind occasionally stirred. The air was hot and hard enough to kiss your breath away and smoke was still rising out in the distance. My dad was out there fighting the fires, my mom thought we were at the rec centre and your parents were opening another round of beers on the front porch with Grandma. And at any moment our lie could shatter, if my mom called my cell and heard it go off in my bedroom because I probably forgot to put in on silence. If Medrith stopped by for a chat with your mom after she got off shift and said she didn’t see us walk past the store. If my ex stopped by after swim practice to ask if I wanted to give it another shot. Anything could happen and by the time we got home, there would be much screaming and crying. For only idiots go into the bush alone during forest fire season without telling anyone where they’re going.

“No,” you said, “Let’s keep going.” You squeezed my hand for reassurance before we moved forward into the bush.

You once told me when we were kids, it wasn’t summer unless some part of the province was on fire. That August I watched a lot of CBC News since my mother had it constantly playing on TV and listened to the local gossip as it made its way across town. Medrith told me as she rung up my groceries that the RCMP would be evacuating us soon and that they’d have to drag her out of her house by the hair before she left. Sam at the museum said it would go around us like it always did and then spoke of his gardening plans for the summer and offered to pay me to mow his lawn and give you a job weeding once you arrived. By the time autumn had rolled around, the adults were referring to that summer as ‘the Burning Fields’ and the news was reporting it as the worse forest fire season BC had ever seen. But early on, it hadn’t seemed like it could be that bad. My mother packed our bags like usual and had them ready at the front door, ‘in case of an emergency’ she told me, and then proceeded to carry on with the plans for the family reunion at the end of the week. No one had plans to evacuate.

It was boiling the day everyone arrived. I’d been sitting on the porch, looking out across the river to the highway on the other side to see if I could figure out who’s vehicle was who’s as I watched them trek forward through the haze. By the time the first car arrived temperature had reached obscene, another fire had started near Cash Creek and my mother had just finished making the salad. Four more cars arrived within the hour and I suffered through all the hugs and kisses. Before everyone had arrived, my mother had sat me down to have a talk about being polite and actually visiting with the family this time. “Sarah’s the same age as you,” she said, “You can introduce her to all your friends.” I didn’t respond out of resentment, for most of my friends had left for Kelowna, Vancouver or Victoria to check out the universities. We couldn’t afford that and the reunion had been deemed more important so I’d been left alone in Lillooet, and the only person left I could tolerate was my ex and he wasn’t speaking to me after I broke up with him when he asked me if we could make it official. He then promptly started dating one of my friends and we were currently not on speaking terms.

You’d died your hair blonde since the last time I’d saw you and were wearing summer clothes that showed off your body in a way I didn’t remember you doing before. And the feeling I got when I saw you was so quick I pushed it aside in panic. I didn’t need this. “Emily,” yelled my mother, “Come say hello to Sarah!”

You smiled and I felt part of my heart drop away. I silently began praying for the end of the world, for this town to burn down and for all the people who couldn’t understand me to go with it. Or at very least, for the next week to pass quickly until you left.



“So you’d be sleeping in my room,” I said as I lead you down the stairs, “We have to share the bed though, unless you want to sleep on the floor. But if you do, there’s no cushions or anything ‘cause Uncle Barry got the couch.”

“The bed’s fine,” you said as I pushed open the door and dropped your backpack next to the dresser. We just kind of stared at each other awkwardly while people began to rearrange the furniture upstairs so everyone could eat. “I missed you,” you said, “You didn’t spend that much time with us last Christmas.” I swallowed and lowered my head.

“Sorry. I just couldn’t be in the house.” I whispered.

“I know.” And when I looked up I could see in your eyes that you knew. Or at very least suspected it.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” I begged. I already knew what would happen, what would be said. My mother would cry and my father would deny it. And then I would suffer here until I graduated or dropped out of school so I could work. Neither option was appealing.

“I won’t,” you reassured me. I bit down my panic and was conveniently rescued as my mother called us for dinner.

“Will your dad be joining us?” you asked as we headed towards the stairs.

“God no,” I said. “He got called away to Cash Creek shortly before you arrived.”

The dinner table was full with food and everyone was eating on the floor. My uncles had already pulled out a case of beer and your mom was half way through it with my aunt.

“Emily,” called your mom as we passed by to grab plates and cutlery, “Do you have a boyfriend yet?”

“I dumped him,” I said. And everyone’s laughter drowned out me asking whether you wanted a knife or not.



By mid-afternoon the next day I could tell you were bored out of your skull. Whatever show we’d been watching had been interrupted for a special news bulletin about another fire. No one was listening though and I’d quickly put in on mute. My mom was cooking lunch and everyone else was tipsy on the porch as the kids ran around screaming in the yard. “We should do something, anything,” you said.

“We could go swimming,” I suggested as I watched the anchorman point wildly to various points on a map to indicate where the fire was spreading. Around a third of the map was red as the mountains burst into flames. Dire warnings had been issued for the Kootnays, the Okanagan Valley and there were plans of evacuation in the air all across the province.

“I didn’t bring a swimsuit though,” you said.

“You can borrow one of mine,” I offered.

“That’s not going to be of much use,” replied your dad as he eyed my chest. I bit down the urge to tell him to fuck off and grabbed your hand, pulling you downstairs before I did anything stupid.

“I’m sorry about that,” you said as I closed my bedroom door behind me and collapsed face first onto the bed.

“Nothing new,” I mumbled. I felt the bed shift as you sat down beside me and then the cold touch of your hand on my neck. I sat up with a start and slapped your hand away.

“Don’t,”

“It’s okay,”

“It’s weird. It’s gross.” You smiled. And I was too concerned about myself to notice whether you were sad when I said that. But you knew, and I was scared of that. I’d gotten used to hiding and the fact that another person could accidentally out me was terrifying.

“Let’s go for a walk,” you suggested. I went upstairs to leave a note on the fridge to say we’d left for the rec centre. We then left by the back door while everyone was drinking.



“Watch for cactuses,” I told you as we slowly made our way through the path. No one had seen us going up the driveway and heading down the path that leads through the bush to the river. The air was electric as the sun burned above us and the sound of grasshoppers echoed all the way down the mountainside as we pushed through the grass. Across the valley I could see storm clouds rolling in from Seaton Lake and made a mental note to remember to take the laundry off the line when we got back.

“We should have worn sunscreen,” you muttered.

“Try and live a little,” I replied as I pushed an overhanging branch back, “Become a country girl.”

“Kamloops is not a cosmopolitan city.”

“It is compared to here.” I laughed.

“Are you going to leave here?” I could still feel your hand in mine and as you said that you gently squeezed before continuing on. “You can’t come out, you have no hope of finding a girlfriend and the social repercussions would be huge. Plus unless you want to study at the TRU satellite school or work, there’s nothing left here. Heck, you can’t even find work.”

“I know that,” I snapped, “Why the fuck wouldn’t I? You think I don’t know what they’ll say, that my ex will start talking about how frigid I am? That my parents would kick me out and that I probably wouldn’t be able to graduate? Jesus Christ, Sarah, I know this shit! Why would anyone who’s different want to stay here?”

You stopped and turned to me. “Are you a lesbian?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, barely able to face you, “I just can’t stand it here though.”

We stood in silence, still holding hands as the wind slowly picked up. As I raised my eyes, you slowly leaned in and kissed me. “Can I do it again?” you whispered as you pulled back.

I nodded and nearly became undone when you pressed your mouth to mine again and leaned into me, your hands resting gently on my hips. It was raining by the time the kiss was over and I could hear people yelling our names in the distance.

“Let’s go back,” you said. Overhead the thunder was starting and later that night the mountainside would be ablaze as the flames raced their way down, devouring all the trees and scrub until it reached the first houses on the outskirts of town before they managed to put it out.

All I could do was nod though, heart thudding and the taste of you still on my lips a reminder of what had just happened. You kept your hand in mine until we rounded the bend and then let go to raise it in signal of where we were.

Kiss and Never Tell

Yoselin parked off to the side of the road and I got out of the car. I had a cell phone that I barely knew how to use in my pants pocket. “I’ll see you in two hours.” she said and the car pulled away, leaving me there.

She’d dropped me on the picnic grounds and I needed to find you. You would be up river at our usual stop. With a sigh I jumped up onto one of the tables and started walking north. I played a game like I’d done when I was younger; I jumped from rocks to logs, trying not to touch the ground.

It was a stupid game but it took my mind off you. Once I ran out of things to walk on, I started counting trees, birds and any other object that caught my eyes.

It took me about twenty minutes to reach you and by then my head was full of numbers. That’s not the greatest combination because I’m barely passing math 11.

Your bike was parked in the bushed and you shoes, coat and shirt formed a pile on the sand. You’d rolled up your jeans and were standing in the water, skipping stones along the surface.

I stood there, not knowing what to say, not after what I’d done to you. I hate apologizing because it acknowledges the fact that I was wrong. There’s nothing wrong with that but an apology has the implication that I screwed up tacked onto it as well.

In the end I didn’t need to say anything. I stepped on a loose stone and tripped, falling flat on my face causing an amusing spectacle, announcing my presence to the world. It sounds like something out of a lame movie but contrary to popular belief all lame movies are real.

“What are you doing Jules?” you asked as you stepped out of the water and quickly put your shirt on. The act was almost feminine as if you felt you were exposing too much to me.

And who the hell decided that femininity was passive and masculinity was dominant? Remind me to shoot them.

“I’m repenting.” I sighed as I pulled myself up and dusted sand and dirt off the designer jeans Tierney had dressed me in. She’d kill me once she saw the stains I was now sporting.

You said nothing and neither did I; we just stared at each other. There was no electrical current like in those cheesy romance novels Tiffany’s got stuffed under her bed. All I could feel between us was guilt.

“Jules don’t do this to me.” you whispered and I felt my body jump. I don’t think you saw it though because your hand was covering your face.

“Do what?” I asked.

“Don’t come and ask that we go back to how we used to be,” you groaned, “You know I can’t do that.”

“I’m not asking for that!” I yelled as I spun around and grabbed hold of your arms. My voice sounded too loud and broken in my ears with an anxious hitch in it.

“What are you asking for then?” you asked. The look on your face told me that you were no longer expecting anything from me. I could feel the twitching in your arms beneath my fingers as if I was causing you an immense physical pain.

“Look at me!” I commanded and I felt my voice break. “Do you love me?”

“Jules I thought we’d been over this.” Your voice was harsh and annoyed as you snapped back at me.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Jules - “

“How do you know Alex?” I yelled.

“Jules let go!” I felt your arms wrench away from me and I pitched forward and hit the ground hard.

I looked up at you and saw my reflection in your eyes. It was the image of a woman’s face torn in half, twisted in pain, jealousy, rage and sadness.

“I don’t get this Alex!” I yelled, screaming almost. “I don’t get how you managed to figure out your feelings and conveniently place a label on them, forcing me to make a decision. It’s not fair you know!”

You just stood there not moving, I think you might have been unable to. I felt the tears well up in my eyes and the sick, sticky feeling they create as they ran down my cheeks.

“I’m blaming you Alex.” I muttered between the sobs that were wracking my body.

“Blaming me for what?” you asked. I hadn’t even noticed were you’d dropped down to sit beside me.

“Quit acting cool,” I said and I felt the sobs and gasping between tears starting up again. You caught my face between your hands and forced me to look at you.

“Don’t,” I muttered, “Don’t look at me.” I wiped the tears out of my eyes and the snot off my nose with my sleeve.

“Please,” I begged, all caution suddenly lost, “Don’t ever leave me again!”

This is the obvious part in the story where the guy takes the girl into his arms and kisses her. You made no move to do that and neither did I. To be honest I think we were both frozen from shock, you from my sudden, confusing confession and me from the fact that I’d just told you everything.

“You know one of us is going to have to move at some point.” I whispered.

“What if I don’t want to move?” you asked.

“Then I will,” I laughed, “My butt is getting numb.” You smiled and ran you fingers through my hair. I don’t think you meant it to be seductive, just comforting. Unfortunately, it was a little of both.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” I asked and I think you stopped breathing then.

“What?” you managed to choke out.

“That’s usually what happens in cheesy romance novels.”

“What have you been reading?” you asked.

“The books under Tiffany’s bed.” I replied.

“I think the question is whether or not you love me Jules?” you whispered.

“I think I do.” I replied, my voice catching as I stumbled over the words.

“You think?”

“Alex can you tell me what love is?” I asked, “I can’t ever remember someone saying they loved me.”

“I love you,” you said.

“How do I know you’re not lying though?” I begged. All remains of my pride were gone and I was begging you to reassure my fears as false.

“Because you’re all I think about,” My breath caught and I could feel my heart thudding in my chest.

“That’s a really, really cheesy line you know,” I muttered. I could feel the blush creeping along my face. When I go red it makes it look like I’m dying of exhaustion, creating a perfect tomato impression.

“Yeah,” you whispered, “I know.” Somehow I managed to gain an immense amount of courage and I slowly lifted your hand from my face and laced my fingers through yours.

“That took a lot of courage you know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, “So why don't you muster up some courage and kiss me?”

I closed my eyes and waited nervously, partially because I was afraid to see your reaction. I felt your free hand move up and slowly grasp my shoulder. I could feel your fingers slowly squeeze mine and then your lips pressed against my mouth.

My hand went up to grasp hold of your shirt because I didn’t know what to do. I tightened my fingers in yours looking for a type of reassurance.

Your grip on me was almost too tight and I could feel your teeth bump against mine. Neither of us knew what we were doing. It was still the closest thing to romance that I’d experienced.

After you let go, we just sat together on the sand. We made no moves to unlock our hands and said nothing. We stayed like that for ages.

After I left you and climbed back into Yoselin’s car and making you promise to go to school tomorrow, I realized something.

That was the first time you kissed me and that was surprising. You’d never even tried to kiss me, not even when we’d slept together.

Dark God

I will love you
in all the essence
of a dark god,
chest bare and breath shallow,
counting the gaps of your ribs,
an uneven earth in the garden
of your body, trapped beneath my fingers
as I raise my hands up the ridges
of your bones, trace
the soft curves of your lips,
the grin of a black smile
in your teeth, press my mouth
to yours and sigh
as you bite down,
hard, blood a vivid dribble
down the curve of my cheek
and a fresh stain across the front
of my shirt
until it reaches the axis
of my heart.
I have been waiting
for this and with every second
I can feel the pulse of the blood
beneath your skin,
the scream of your cells
and the gasp of your lungs
left crawling across my body
in punishment for what
I have done.
There is very little choice
in this matter,
so please, kiss me,
let me lay you back along the sheets
and begin my final descent
down with you.

Comes to This

Please.
I don't expect you to understand
or even recognize the signs before you,
the burst of blue trailing across the wall
after the fight,
white berries buried in the snow
packed upon the drive,
crushed beneath the screech
of the wheels,
all while the clouds of this night
peal away slowly as the dawn breaks.
Still, I'm not going to tell you.
You can guess, run your knuckles
through my hair and pull,
press your lips to mine
and beg me to tell you
when we come up for air.
I hope it never comes to this though.

Winter

I can remember
the crunch of your boots in the snow,
the sheen of the ice on the sidewalk
and the blood of the dying sun
that poured out across the sky,
slick between the tendrils
of the clouds, starting the sudden descent
of this day into darkness.
It was winter
when you kissed me, your lips
frozen and chapped as you pressed them
to mine, slid your hands
into my pockets and pulled,
tugging me closer
as if to breathe my warmth into you,
as if I could save you from the inevitable
before the snow began to fall.
But the wind was blowing, hard,
your lashes frozen,
my breath a white puff
rising through the air
and at that moment
I knew that this was all I could give you.
I needed to be able to climb away,
up out of the drifts before the snow
swallowed the two of us whole
together.

Will You Love Her?

Will you love her, love her senseless,
plastered black against the night walls
of a million stars drowning beneath the surface of the sea?
Will you kiss her, knock her backwards, bleed her down until the end?
Will you break her, will you
make her, will you shake her hard
against the walls that try to hold us all together?
Will you love her, will you shove her down a flight of
broken stairs?
Will you kill her, will you grill her, question all the actions
against the rhythm of our sanity?

Because
I need to know, know if this love is real
in the vicarious search of blue passion
oozing across the skin.
All I want to do is watch you fall
scream first, into the trappings of a misogynistic
love.

end of the night

sugar and bones,
cracked beneath the grind
of my teeth, fingers scraping
the skull of the bowl
as i fall forward, my mouth
against yours, fingers enlaced
as i take your hair and pull,
forcing you closer,
close enough as if i could
swallow you whole
before this night ends.

Damage It All

Shh.
I'll drift you quiet in the night,
kiss you back upon the face
of the mountain,
dry your tears and lie,
saying it's alright.
But you, your lips
carved in stone, eyes sunken pools
upon the surface
of the water,
you smile only for the pleasure
of someone I've never met
and I know
there's no chance for me,
to pry the corners of your body
open, lick you down
and wash the memories of another
man away from you.
So I bite my tongue
and the blood runs dear, sticky
and sweet, a sugar
coating to my words as I try
to slowly strip away your defenses
and damage the two of us
beyond all repair.

Make it Happen

07/13/12

I wish for you to bind
me clean,
peel back the layers of my clothing,
trace the underside
of my breasts and kiss
me slowly
before you pry me open.
Because I'll dream of your hands
branded against the bones
of my hips, fingers locked,
breath shaking,
mind reeling as I let myself
fall forwards into you.

I hope that I can make this happen.

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.

Begging You

09/20/12

I am begging you
to kiss me. I can imagine
the trace of your fingers down
the side of my jaw, gently hooking
under my chin and the soft tug
as you tilt my head upwards
to meet your eyes.

I will take you in, the embellishments
of my memories of you, the curve
of your smile, the short length
of your hair as I raise
my hands to thread my fingers
through it and pull
you down towards me.

I am still fantasizing
as I raise my legs to lock
them around your hips, trace my fingers
up the length of your spine,
your body heavy, stretched
along the length of my centre,
the beat of your heart aching
through your skin onto mine.

I am willing you to break
me, strip my body open
piece by piece, clothes discarded
on the floor, the heat
of your breath in my ear,
the bite of your teeth on my neck
as I am falling,
falling headfirst into confusion
with you.

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.

Sinner

I am used to your sins,
the curdle in the air, the scream
that poisons the frothy
white of the milk.
There is no doubt it was you,
yet the evidence is foggy,
smoke upon the glass, ashes
upon the sidewalk
and mud within your hair,
a sweet, sticky solution
to these ravages
while you kiss me open,
hold me back,
and lie directly in my ears.
I fold myself to sleep within
your voice, my arms
wrapped 'round the hollow
of your ribs,
blessed in the ruddy wounds
that weight me down within fatigue.
Still,
I know the breath of a liar,
the stench of the mad
and the ever molting sensation
of a killer's hands wrapped
'round my neck...

and there is no discomfort.

Watching You

06/03/12

I can remember the way
I watch you,
eyes darting away to not get caught
as I check you out,
scrape the lines of your body clean
before rising up to meet your eyes
in a panic,
for I want to touch you,
kiss you clean,
straddle your lap, lace your fingers
through mine and allow myself
to fall forward into you.

More of a Poet

I think I’m more greedy

than you can imagine,

spread out and dyed,

smothered in the freshly baked pages

of imagery gone wild,

swinging out across the sand.

I want to swallow and taste

the bitter hue

of words gone sour

in the library of our thoughts composed,

boiled, shredded and baked

in the oven of our small apartment.

I’ve got the sensation

of all your angles and panes

stamped across my tongue

despite my actions of trying to

scrape myself clean of you

with a bloody knife.

I’ve got you printed deep within

the pages and painted

across my skin,

despite my horror.

I’ll never see your grimace,

your smile, your laugh

carved and curled around the words.

I’m expecting myself to write fantasy

in which you don’t exist,

the wall are white

and the sheets are clean.

You’re more of a poet than

I am though,

for I can still feel your presence

moving inside me.

This Evening

I can feel the ache of my lungs,
the collapse of my bones
as I start to fall inwards
from the weight
of this evening.
I need you to pull my ribs forward,
kiss the dry whites of my eyes,
smother me down, bite
the blue of this bruise
slowly starting to bloom
upwards along my chest.
I know this will take time
to heal.

Red

Red lips that are not so red.

You smile

with mock sincerity etched upon your face.

You’re laughing at me.

I’d hear whispers late at night, of how

you rip peoples’ hearts out

and leave them to fester in the open air,

blood spilling out,

dying red to black,

sticking, causing a permanent wound,

just like the one you left on me.

Red lips that are not so red.

You pout,

creating the unfair urge to protect, yet

you’re cutting into me.

I’d watch you paint, never sleeping,

creating false visions

and twisted pictures of reality,

paint smeared across the canvas,

staining white with red,

mixing a permanent brand,

just like the one you left on me.

Red lips that are not so red.

You frown

with distain marked upon your brow.

You’re looking down on me.

I’d listen to you criticize and mock

my every move and reaction to you,

launching a frontal attack with words,

piercing deep within my cells,

clouding back a layer of rage,

just like the one you left on me.

Red lips that are not so red.

You laugh,

knowing my limitations and boundaries.

You’re playing with me.

I’d hear your voice with taunting tones,

drawing me in circles,

wearing me down because you know

I can’t resist you,

dark red on skin, you lips on mine,

a branding of ownership by lipstick,

just like the one you left on…

him.

Red lips that are not so red,

sealed tightly against what

I want to hear.

Strawberry

What if I could taste
the seeded coating of your lips
and watch the juices run red
against the pale surface of your skin,
tracing your heart and
counting the beats to match
the trembling of your mouth as it
opens timidly to receive a kiss
and be crushed to mine with only
a semblance of summer rationality
against the harvest season
as the fruit ripens,
waiting to be plucked and eaten.