He touches you violently like maybe
he's throwing stones, and touches the curves of your bones and teeth
and pushes beneath your ribcage, where you keep secrets
clamped up like pearls.Cleans them off and strings them together, a necklace maybe, but too tight.
You press his head to bathroom tiles and tell him that even though his thoughts fly awake like birds, you cage them and feed them arsenic,but you love them anyway, love them and tell them not to lie lie lie
lay
with me and I'll whisper from the headboard
that I don't love but I'm getting close.I see you picking me over and vines crawl up my legs and bloom lilies on my thighs.
I can not take care of this I say, I can not take care of something I don't know.
I turn over and tell you that one day
I will have something to offer.
Here, here is a hand.
And I will thumb your pages and calm fevers.
It is something quiet
I have now
dangerous maybe,
but
I still grow gardens starting from my toenails,
and weed out poisons.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
A girl lights a cigarette in a crowded room. Fleeting angel in smoke. But she is nothing nothing nothing but a machine clicking and ticking and wanting and not getting.
She thinks how the only difference between a body and a corpse is breath and blood.
A boy lays down on a box of springs. He remembers fucking you on the bathroom floor and his hands get antsy. He tries to remember that he is not chemical. That he is not and you are not and that both of you were not, just clanking bones and air escaping between teeth.
They sit quiet and tense, like love
between them is something dangerous,a good disease maybe, like the West Nile Virus.
He had grown tired of her after the first two years and found a girl on Lantern street who spoke four different languages and had a knack for kleptomania and heroin.
She still puts notes inside of his coat pockets before work, the last one said, "I blame you for my three abortions."
Things tear quick and easy like rice paper.
But Love, you are
bright . And on a warm day in October I found you sleeping on my pillow. And I wanted to let you know,
that I haven't lit another cigarette.
She thinks how the only difference between a body and a corpse is breath and blood.
A boy lays down on a box of springs. He remembers fucking you on the bathroom floor and his hands get antsy. He tries to remember that he is not chemical. That he is not and you are not and that both of you were not, just clanking bones and air escaping between teeth.
They sit quiet and tense, like love
between them is something dangerous,a good disease maybe, like the West Nile Virus.
He had grown tired of her after the first two years and found a girl on Lantern street who spoke four different languages and had a knack for kleptomania and heroin.
She still puts notes inside of his coat pockets before work, the last one said, "I blame you for my three abortions."
Things tear quick and easy like rice paper.
But Love, you are
bright . And on a warm day in October I found you sleeping on my pillow. And I wanted to let you know,
that I haven't lit another cigarette.
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