
Red
I want a rose—
a foolish declaration of love.
I want a rose so red that,
should I crush it in my hand,
the petals,
mangled and bruised,
would seep and stain my fingers
a bloody crimson.
---
Uncaring
You paid no attention to my heart
as it latched itself onto you
with such devotion,
such mighty optimism.
---
No Finer Meal
He asked if he could eat me—
devour me with knife and fork,
upon plate of fine china,
as nine figures flanked him.
Women he could no longer sense –
wispy, floating echoes
of what were,
now gone from this plane.
I looked to them for the answer
as he waited for mine,
because I did not know
which would save me.
With eyes devoid of light,
chins tipped down,
lips curled,
When they nodded,
so did I.
When he grinned,
so did I.
---
Little Ghost
He named me something new
to match my state of being,
formed by his influence,
a fitting name
for one who vanishes in his shadow,
unseen but always there,
who lingers over his shoulder,
whose wails and moans
find only his ear,
whose chill
from a long-dead soul
tingles down his spine.
A name that broke me …
until his shell began to crack,
and I accepted myself
as the one who haunts him.
---
Beside Me
I like his cries in the night
and that he doesn’t know he makes them.
I like that if I stay awake after sleep has claimed him,
I see the raw world he hides from me.
I like that, in this world, he whimpers my name
as if I am out of reach,
and sobs for my affection
as if he does not have it.
I like that his heart wholly desires
what only my heart can give.
So, desperate as I am,
I do not like when he wakes up.
---
Under Your Nails
It was not I who cracked my chest
and peeled myself apart for you.
I did not vandalize tissue
or carelessly break bone. Y
ou pried me open with bitter fingers
and gritted teeth.
Bits of me are forever trapped
under your nails.
---
Shifter
I did not think I would love you.
Our tattoos did not match,
your knuckles pushed mine too far apart,
the width of your hips brought an ache
to my thighs.
As the seasons turned beneath our tangled limbs,
I drew Sharpie lines on my skin
and got used to the cramps in my fingers.
My muscles stretched so my legs
could spread wider.
We fit then,
complemented one another
after all my hard work.
Patiently I am waiting to see
how you will shapeshift for me.
---
Dancing Darling
I watch you in slow motion
under throbbing lights of color
that alter the shade of your skin. T
he thumps of hearts echo
the beats that fill the room.
You dance for me
as you grab her hips
and pull her against you,
grinding through fabric layers.
One misspoken word from my lips
has you abandoning me for another,
showing what I could lose at any given moment,
and what awaits you
if I am gone.
---
Breakdown
A frail, glass box—
that is all that contains my madness.
But I threw a pebble at it
and now the cracks are growing;
the flood of my emotions
spewing through thin, jagged spaces,
the pressure threatening its walls.
And they will shatter
because that is what they do.
The lid will cave
and disaster will coat the floor
beneath my feet.
---
For Now
When I touch my lips to yours
for the first time in months,
I whimper—
whimper and melt,
and the tears want to come,
because it is much easier to resist desire
if one has not entertained it
in a while.
But I have given in.
I am tasting you like I used to:
remnants of gin and cigarettes
and blueberry pie,
and it is all you.
You,
who are so shocked by my kiss
that it takes you a moment to catch up
and become the you that I know.
But you find me,
and then I am in your lap,
hands everywhere -
thighs, spine, holding the back of my head -
tongue in mouth, teeth nipping lips,
and I have decided
I shall not deprive myself of you
again.
At least…
not until you hurt me
once more.
Comments
Nothing can touch the soul…
Nothing can touch the soul more deeply than a poem that's deprived the from the rawness of longing, of desire, of pain and loss. A handful of well-chosen words can do what might take several hundred pages in a novel. It's the most direct route to the heart and to our emotions, and this selection does just that. Not a word feels redundant and I'm sure this will prove very popular with those who know what poetry is.
...the comment above should…
...the comment above should be 'derived'.