Tuesday, December 15, 2015

The night you don't remember

I can't stop thinking of your hands, lingering around my waist and drawing wanting patterns...and these shivers echoing through my core. Oh chemical feeling, and this undeniability. And words in my voice said "Just hold me." Who was that?
You say you'll always be trying to kiss me. Just once, if there is nothing there, we will go our separate ways. No, I say. It won't be like that. You say exactly.

How long now? Cemented to your porch, and fear. You lay beside and wrapped yourself around me, I asked, who are you? Because suddenly I do not know. Our conversation is frank and clear, honesty corralled into one tiny night and you're calling me out for never having the courage of honesty before now. We both messed up. And ache, like a hazy blanket over my heart. My chest is a cloud I'm only floating on. This girl I loved, you say. Loved? I reply. I love you, you say. I love you. I messed up. 
You should have married me. I know, you say. I know that now.

Our hands somehow flit in finite spaces and it's this magnetic atomic exchange. I say hold out your hand, marry me. You tell me you don't have a ring, and I slip the rounded rope of a dog leash over your ring finger. Now you can't ever say you've never been married. 

He tells you how lucky you are. This man walking down the road says I'm beautiful and how lucky you are. You say I'm such an idiot. It's abundantly clear. And I never want you to stop touching me. And it's mine, all mine, this memory; it's surreal and it aches, like nostalgia and whiskey and laughter and loyalty. I never knew you loved me. I thought, but I never knew. You should have married me, you idiot. We would be infinitely happy now. We would smile and we would fall, because at last, at last, the emptiness would be gone. And now nothing will ever be the same. So we exist in foggy memories and haphazard meetings and we'll never get away from each other. And something about that will always, always, always. hurt.

Thursday, December 3, 2015

breeze on your cheeks

I admit, the sound of your voice feels like the dots on the wall of the house I grew up in, morphing shadows into faces. Vibrations that transport. Sickly and toxic still but I love it, wrap around it because it's dark and familiar. Little bits that make acting out seem like stranger's folly in my freedom, I wonder where the shaking stops...but not here, not in this place, where the music surrounds and greasy sweating monkeys suck away the last days of their youth, thumping club to wicked feet bumping up up and up - you make me feel at home here in the land of everlasting heartbeats. Did you follow me, the sound of a base pumping out steady punk rhythm from the days of leather jackets, buckles, spikes and sticky floors. Many years later but enter impression, sweet face, fractured in cynicism I stopped and let my eyes rest upon you. Maybe you were the worst thing to ever happen to a heart like mine, tiny veins and capillaries spread out wide to feed immortal soul, you sick crust, you vagrant, you vampire. You fed, unforgiving beast that rippled once, twice, and died, disappeared without remorse into thin air. How could you play such tender games...I split in two, pushing outwards like a hatchling from the prison of eggshell, shed my skin and tried to burn the world with my tongue of flames. I needed to watch something die. What was slain becomes the slayer, yes, a petty paradox but it's why I shine tonight. glitter glitter and who wants to bite.

Succubus, angel in red. So I trick myself, like everybody else.