I wonder
if
you were sober
and I
was well-adjusted
if we
would’ve still
recognized each other
in the way we did
and could ‘ve
somehow,
someway,
made it work.

No, really.
I wonder
if
you were sober
and I
was well-adjusted
if we
would’ve still
recognized each other
in the way we did
and could ‘ve
somehow,
someway,
made it work.
These little anal –
rape red
pills
make me feel gentle –
internally –
As if the whole of humanity lives inside me,
and I can love it all,
unconditionally.
We were toxic as fuck,
and there are times I wonder
if our connection was more a sickness
of spirit, rather than something cosmic —
But sometimes,
when the moon looks just right,
and the night air is a certain humidity,
I miss you —
The scathe of your fingers nails on my scalp,
sharp enough for me to wince beneath them,
the low rumble of your voice, which always caused
me to lean into your mouth,
the sound of your laugh, which is etched inside my brain,
the curve of your fingers, and the impossible largeness of your hands,
the deep, earthy smell of you that always made me feel like I was at home,
and the feeling of when our heads touched – like it was always us, had always
been us, and would always be us.
Even if it was a sickness,
at least it was shared.
Hold me close and kiss me –
– then text her from ‘our’ bed.
Call me by the names that only you know –
– as you simp for her half naked photos.
Blow smoke, talking about keys, growing old, meeting your mama and babies –
-while you plan to take couple photos with her.
‘Make love’ – never fuck – me –
– while visions of her dance in your head.
Use me when you want to cum –
-then talk to her for hours, lying to me by omission.
Just say the truth –
I’m the Bargain Basement clearance rack version
of what you always wanted, but could never get.
Tell me –
You’re not in love, but
love my attention
and
will keep cumming in me
’til something better
comes along.
“Can I keep you?” I whispered against your lips.
Not whimsy, but a real question.
“Yes,” you murmured into my smile.
Our bodies pressed against each other,
Like two halves trying to make a whole.
“How long?”
How long will you stay?
“As long as you want me.”
And I sunk into that pink, hazy bubble
of bliss that I’m always in when you’re near.
“Ok. I’ll keep you for good.”
I meant forever, but didn’t want to scare you.
.
.
.
.
.
Five heartbeats, before I ask.
“Will you keep me?”
Will you really stay?
Do you really want me?
“Mmhm”
.
.
.
Three heartbeats before..
“How long?”
.
.
Two heartbeats.
As if the answer is obvious.
“Forever,” you said, your cum dripping down my hips.
“Ok, forever,” I agreed, kissing you with eyes wide shut.
Since I can always
deny it if you read
this, I'll tell you a
secret.
The reason why we
69 only when you're
blindfolded is so that
you don't
see the skin tag
on my asshole.
It's also the reason
why we do doggy
only in the dark.
I wonder what I'd be like
had you not smelled my
daddy issues like, like a
shark scents blood in
the water.
What kind of life I'd have
if you never whispered
obscenities down the
phone line into my fourteen
year old ears.
What I'd think about
love, and sex had I not
given up my virginity
in a one night stand
so you wouldn't
be disappointed.
Or even if I hadn't learned
from you that love, sex, and
the person you're fucking are
of no consequence so long as
I get mine.
It's no wonder that I
am terrified by love and
find sex to be hollow, and
have an overwhelming fear
of abandonment.
This is my body. 36. 33. 36. Cellulite on the backs of my thighs, a highway of broken capillaries, mapping the pot holes of cottage cheese. This is my body. Tits beginning to sag with age as the years stretch out longer with nipples scarred by youthful piercings when we all believed we were indestructible. This is my body. With a belly that is no longer flat, but mushes like soft bread; an effect of diminishing estrogen. This is my body. Criss-crossed with scars, tattoos and crows feet which whisper the secrets that I've forgotten long ago. This is my body. As I stand naked before a mirror and will myself to love it though it juxtaposes what mass media dictates. This is my body. Mine to love, hate, exploit, destroy, sanctify. This flesh and bone. This is home. This is where I live.
I want you to find
my hair in your bed;
a rainbow of reds, pinks,
browns, blues, greens, blonde
and maybe even a little bit of gray.
I want you to find
it wrapped around the
base of your cock when
you take a shower, and
between your ass cheeks, in
your mouth when you eat lunch,
scattered across your favorite
clothes and clinging to your cat's tail,
plastered on your shower
curtain, and in thin, curling
esses around the drain of your bathtub.
"Welcome home,"
and by 'home' I
meant my pussy as
you slid deeply inside of me.
'Home' because
you fit perfectly,
your cock anchoring me
to the ground of your being
where our
spirits mingle with each other
in the full embodiment of co-creation.