These clenched fists were all for you love, brandy-soaked like my liver in preserves, cut a slice of this life with the slip of your tongue. Down my neck across these carteroids sweating, bullets like trumpets sounding the revenge of social martyrs I made with this profession of love most phonetic and natural. I have slipped nooses like bowties onto myself with such ease that your cortex ignores cliches and dashed memories on the sidewalk outside our first apartment in the snow while you drink another woman’s whiskey. I am recumbent like a broken lightbulb, ask them that, ask them if they see what really exists out second stories at the age of six, and I will tell you of redeeming summer nights noticing the different ways you breathe in your sleep.


One one now two.

Do you think of that first moment with a kiss like elixir, the lights turned low like they know that steady isn’t best on feet like drum skins? Through the thick and thin we ignore reparations as if they were persuasively jaded to formulate the outline of my hands on the side of your face that night in your bed. Would you pay to forget that we weren’t always trees with branches overlapping and entwined, once we were war horses shouldering men to battle over lovers. I still can feel the warm of your skin and the fire in my stomach on a cool summer night if I shut my eyes tightly enough and you are not holding my hand for one instant, one second, halves into a whole, one one now two.


Our fingers flutter against one another, against skin, against your cigarettes and cards exchanged like tips. The concrete under my back weighs me down like a burnt memory, slows life like a god feigning ignorance in your eyes, makes me believe again that lovers aren’t always covered in false time. I could live for the moments of friction. Can I be burned by the morning on your teeth tomorrow? Can I write your name on every page in my esophagus like notes uncovered from plaster left by previous tenants before the fire? Will you let me enfold you like an exhalation from the chorus, keep you up all night with the force of my pulse at these pressure points, stop traffic with these goals so imaginable and tangible, literary classics all notated and sun-bleached? Will you remember these things we said and inlaid too much meaning for casual greetings?

Do I make you scream like a lover too?

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Calm waters always break like skin (remember your knuckles in my spine as I am face down in another girl’s bed). I have no use for meter as I am under a showerhead (you can drown from the inside now). Remorse is a gift the Good Lord gave to those who can admit what they did (defense divulges guilt when you tie it up like a gallow is your god). I have never felt like you watched me so close (sometimes it could be easier to stop these heartbeats).


I am so pretty when I’m falsely complacent, darning needles for fingers, damning feelings for feelers, a heavy stone in the pit of my hipbones and a tongue I can sew down like an anchor of rancor, push push against weights we were born with like waning shadows. Are you sure of yourself in these moments we stand sideways? I am an animal with these mornings as prey, half-eaten corpses scattered under your covers. Narrow down your fears, naturism for lovers. I dig into you, elbows deep into abdomen, they think this is something far more beautiful than them, than the degeneration of origination. Our secrets are angelic behind our lips so profane. Betrayals are kisses in the garden before your crucifixion, and I will forget your name.

The last time I saw you was the night I quit smoking.

I feel like an impostor with these drinks in my belly and my hand on his shoulder. Red face, red face, I remember our unease and your bitter hums. I promised you my shoes. Paint my face like a whore, like you’re still here, like words will never matter anymore. I ring the blues, I don’t hold together these fissures at night. I wipe my face like I was a warrior once, and a man on the corner tells me I am beautiful. We are more than beautiful.