with me

breathe
softly quietly
beneath the shadow and the shiver
of this sensation
as my eyes close and slowly roll
back into my head
my neck tilting to the side
as i gasp
the memory of the moment
a fresh chill along my skin
that i am incapable
of overcoming
i can still feel you with me
on me
in me
around me
long after you're gone

dressing up

i bet those jeans make your ass look great, she says.

i want you to look at me, the curve of my hips, my breasts, my ass, the slope of my shoulders, the angle of my hand on my hip as i pause, stop and turn to look back at you.
this is a signal i want you to fuck me, let me slowly lower myself down into your lap as you remove my sweater from my shoulders, slide your hands under my shirt and bra, if i happen to be wearing one, and kiss me.
at the same time this is not about you as i allow myself to move within the dark spaces of the night, warm with the petals of imagination and fantasy. you could be anyone, the man across the bar, the boy driving a pickup truck too large for him, a faceless man i have no desire for and cannot conceive developing any. what matters is that there is the possibility that you're watching me. that you cannot help it.
so i'll start moving.
because this is different than before, fresher than the first time i wanted your gaze on me, your lips on mine and was drowning in the fear of it. so i did the only thing i could think to express it. i made the shirt tighter, the neckline lower, the jeans curvier and wore no bra, just a shelf tank underneath in a means to offset the standard of beauty i was attempting to become. i wanted you to think i was beautiful, and if that didn't work i wanted you to think i was hot enough for you to mess around with. fuckable. even though i couldn't bring myself to say those words.
and when i showed up at college i couldn't find you. a quick search revealed that you were skipping class and the irony was so much i almost started laughing. that was the first and last time i dressed solely for you.
now when you look, it's not because i've done it for you. i've done it for me. and because i'm so fucking hot you just can't help but look.

giving up

there are the moments when i see you that i begin to hate myself again. usually when you smile at me, the pauses between the conversation when i stop awkwardly, unsure of how to continue. and you never seem to notice.
i should be over you. you have made it clear, in the one small conversation that we've had, that you do not want me, not like that. so i took the axe and the hammer, smashed whatever feelings i had felt for you, gutted the rest with a knife and when it was over i was left with the sensation of being hollow every time i am near you.
i cannot handle being near you.
not without feeling like i am 17 again, with the scent of fear and uncertainty imprinted along my skin, the face in the mirror expressionless and alien, my need for some one to touch me a shameful secret. you were the first time i was not afraid.
and i refuse to go back to that. and now that i have killed everything i felt about you in the past two years, i find myself wondering if there is anything left to salvage.
i don't believe there is, but i can't bring myself to tell you this. so we keep going in circles, me pretending that we are the same and you, ever oblivious to it all.

fuck

and this is different.
or not.
fuck.
you should push me,
grab me, bite me,
break me, pry me
open along the bed,
kiss me, stroke me,
hold me
together,
still. i keep expecting
something, as if the world
should have shattered,
i should have cried,
whether from complication,
fear or embarrassment, i am not sure.
yet this is normal, almost,
for i am still faintly left
with the rocking sensation
of your inhabitance of my body,
the beat of my heart in knowledge
of the act, the churn of my mind
in remembrance.
fuck.
you should push me,
grab me, bite me,
break me, pry me
open along the bed,
kiss me, stroke me,
hold me
together,
still.
for i do not feel to have lost
myself yet.

punch it

i paid a short adorable woman 90 dollars to punch a bar through two separate points in my left ear.
this time i did not have rage to carry me through the healing process, as i replace the anger with another kind of pain, sweeter, easier to control as i attempt to simultaneously claw my body open and fuse it back together.
for i like the moments in which i hurt myself, claw my body open from the ribs, bury my face in my hands and gasp against the pain. and in the end, after all this, i have physically proof that i have survived, taken ownership over this pain, my body, my desire and the loneliness of this world.
i am left with metal in my ears.

believe

and this time i believe you
as i inhale deeply, the scent of arousal
still clinging to my fingers, my body
awash with the small thrill of the moment,
your lips on my neck, your fingers
in my hair as we each breath raggedly together.
it's in the omission that it breaks me open,
the whisper in your voice as i run my tongue
along the side of your neck,
press my breasts down against your chest
and feel your hands solid
along the base of my spine
while i resist the urge to hold back
from allowing you to fuck me.
and you, along with the rest of my world,
will probably read this,
maybe as confession, a love poem,
a lie, the truth behind the curve of the computer screen,
but even at this point i find i have very little
to be afraid of by now,
not the lines of my body, the arc of my heart
and the span of my desire in relation
to my body and my mind and you.
for we've already reached the tipping point of resolution.
and i have been left with nothing to fear
by tomorrow.

and in the beginning

there was the word,
black upon the edge of my tongue
and sweet to the point,
as if by speaking i could remedy
the extent of the problem,
lick the salt from the wound of the page,
swallow
or spit the semen out, feel your fingers
hooked in the hair at the back of my neck
as i allow poetry
to tilt me back until i reach breaking point,
just far enough so i can see your eyes.
for there is nothing quite as pure
as this, the pinch and
the slide, the grab and the slap, the
break and the crunch of the moment
between my teeth as i recite
each line of this moment, the sounds
of the corners of my bones as they fuse together
at the base of my spine,
the soft whisper of a bite
along the shadow of my neck as i arch
to allow you easy, easy access.
i am still listening, and whispering,
and reciting the lines of this love
as i go over
the edge.