Pressing against my lips, steaming beneath millimeters of porcelain,

The taste of you is carved into my lips-

Caramels moments, sticky with passion, and salty memories dripping from bitter eyes.

Quench me, I desire so, my love, but please leave me refreshed!

Your violent energy coursing through these fragile veins;

Motivating me.. Healing me.. Owning me.. 

Please, my love, I’m both willing and desperate, in fact, to forgo the familiar-

Your lollipop of poison. 

Damning my tongue. Damning a possible future of self-sustained stability. 

I. Must. Taste. You! 

This realization further upsets my stomach, willing an unstable ocean of acid and fear;

Despite it, I’m helplessly devouring your buffet of co-dependency.

Fully aware of this violent revelation, which shocks my innards,

I. Must. Ingest. You!

Nurture me, love, prevent my inevitable decay!  

The only thing to save this rotting body are the words;

Of which only you can speak:

… 

…

unable to eat, yet wanting to chew.

Words drenched in saliva spatter into my ear; 

pathetic words.. political words.. obligatory words…

JUST FUCK ME! 

Pull down my panties with an inviataion.

Penetrate me with compliments uttered through lying teeth.

Ravage my flesh.. make me bleed..

I’m a sponge for your frustration, just please…

Use me. 

Don’t let me sit and fester. 

Don’t pick me up after a week of unuse and scoff at my cheese-molded scent. 

Use me. Fuck me. Share with me. 

Shove these violent feelings of insecurity away with your raging hardness. 

Fuck me. 

Fuck me, please…

Be my friend, unconditionally, and fuck me.  

Betwixt the shadows growing on the walls and the mournful cry of a distant ambulance’s siren..

I hear you. Your laughter. The sincerity of your chuckling brings tears to these old eyes,

Lids stretched thin over years, pulled tighter as the distance between us grew.

Watercolor walls, the backdrop of tonight’s wetting pillow, your eyes haunt me.

How they lifted when I made you smile.

How they crinkled when we doubled over laughing over a joke only we could understand…

I miss you, my dear.

Miss how our bond could keep the shadows of night at bay,

But without you they grew long, with fingers like decaying branches.

Sharp. Brittle. Sorrowful.

How I wish I could ask you to save me!

I scream in the silence of my thoughts,

“Help me.. please.  Oh! How they call out to me…”

Yet,  we can’t even exchange a recipe for coleslaw, let alone our feelings.

How I hope you’re doing well, though if I had a choice–

I’d send these hungry shadow your way.

Just for a single night.

Awakening to a world where I’m not alone in this suffering.

“Man-With-Pipe”.

Another unknown; due to underexposure, or perhaps prudence,

Is of what he, “Man-With-Pipe”, that is, smokes? 

The first wisps of fragrant clouds sashay skywards, tangoing with cross-breezes;

New generations of wisps follow in their withering ancestor’s path,

They too will dissiapte, as I understand it, perhaps reaching thier promise land,

Perhaps not.

“Man-With-Pipe” is nonplussed with this seemingly shallow existence, of which he initiates.

I stare at him, Man-With-Pipe, while I think of HIM;

Yet another name unknown, fostered by ignorance and fear, or perhaps simply unacknowledged;

Self righteous indignation?  My nonconformity–

There is someone moving behind me!  

With breath strictly held I turn from HIM to face whomever, or whatever, is lurking behind my back. 

Strange… No one is there. I could’ve sworn…

Free from my incessant attention I hear a massive exhale;

ahhHHHHHhhhhhh…

And with that my journey begins. 

Push aside, gently, these dense branches and let Sun kiss my cheek.

Guard me, Love, while I slumber in frozen isolation beneath your feet.

I beseech, humbly, of you to be there… I need you … before I can bloom.

Everything changes. Time dangles precariously from lashes as my top lid briefly kisses the bottom… I’ve changed; even within that moment. The words that I had intended to share fluttered away on a warm breeze, only to return tainted, frigid. Strangely beautiful, yet frightening, smelling of sea salt and sweetened tears.

Sincerely, contrived, both your’s and not–

M.

I stumble along a snaking carriage way, rutted, sparsely graveled, inching towards the little home.

Shadows whisper from the ditch to my left; twigs scratch at my ankles with their skeleton fingers.

The world retards as an unfriendly gust bellows past me…

Time, along with bits of decay and dust, pushes harshly against my back, again, I stumble.

Again, inching towards the little home; inexplicably smaller, despite my slow approach.

Face, hands and feet all comfortably numb, while a bruised heart pulses violently in my narrow chest.

Dread. This graying world. This unyielding path. That toy-box house.

I’m not going to be able to make it, again, this year.. I can’t! I’m not strong enough–What if…?

Exhaling, ghosts float warmly before my eyes. Graying.

I distrust them, as I do this tainted air, billowing from a lego-block chimney, filling my lungs with soured memories.

I’ve buried them in that house. Compacting them year after year.. What if they’re unearthed?

Creaking… unoiled hinges and warped wood–

No. I wont!

Shuffling… weary feet inching across century old floors–

No! NO! You can’t make me. Stop it. Stop it!

Whispers… gurling, wet words, thick with blood, clotted with dank soil–

“Welcome home.”

Calloused hands, aqueous and bleak, grasp at my feet–

Pulling me closer.. stormily.. the abyss now imminent.

A clattering of a thousand voices drown my sanity:

…secrets shared betwixt indiscretionaries…

…guttural moans of pain…

…recipe for Auntie May’s coleslaw…

Amidst this boisterous, liquid madness, a solitary, ethereal drop lands upon my cheek–

You!

Drunken nights of carnality. Sober mornings of rapture.

Fingers trace an outline of you…

Avoiding a wondering gristle missile.. eschewing his heinie …

I compose your immortal vascular machine into a stranger’s hair-ridden back.

Modern sighs of pleasure escape from strange lips–

Antiquated signs of regret escape from a mouth tightly drawn.

Cock forsaken.

Nipples derelict.

Heart forlorn.

…

Tu te fais l’amour mieux que personne d’autre.