by Rosy Cheeks And Irony   Jan 29, 2018

If I were to look here, read between the lines of those
white lie scars, tell me…
That I could see a poltergeist in the form of a shiver,
rushing up the ladder of that shaking spine.
One that will only to suicide itself
off the tip of your throat the one moment I
put my lips to yours, in the desperate hope of forgetting just what
type of air I’m breathing?
Will I see water colour stains of each shade you feel
when you feel in shades of explosions:
When every atom beating inside you longs to
feel in shades of me?
Will I become someone who alights a sweet corruption
that crashes inside of you, each skin cell stretching and
billowing in the aftermath of an attack?
Do I have the power to leave you vulnerable?
Like a
white flag beating the safe word of…
Each time I trace the line of moles atop your collar bone
with my tongue, and smile secretly when you whisper the words
wait for it
Is it almost like I am a cliff hanger?
One you’re religiously stuck on.
History teaches us that Queen Victoria told her daughter
to just
“Lie back and think of England.”
Yet I would much rather lie back and think of you,
lying beside me here. Tonight.
Its 11:11 now, but I cannot help but think of things
that stand way beyond my reach.
Like a place where my brokenness isn’t always conspiring against
me, or where a kiss can single-mindedly make every single
stone in my stomach role over, and vanish in the same way yours do.
You see there’s a draft coming from somewhere in the corridor
of my soul;
And I just cannot help but assume that it’s a storm
awaiting the chance to grain down these bones, so that they
may fit perfectly, like a heart within a ribcage, to the light curves
of your soft hands.
You’re not here to touch now.
There is nothing that proves to me that you exist far
beyond what my mind can fathom,
That I could consistently walk atop an earth
where you sit gracefully, legs sprawled out in front of you:
Lean body, firm muscle, jeans ripped in places that I wish my mouth
was instead.
Blowing smoke rings the size of phosphines and
pretending they are the graves of shattered halos.
Reminders of those frozen angels,
The ones that fell from heaven down to earth to see the texture
rock bottom can feel like.
I can taste you like a goodbye just at the back of my
pleading throat:
Sweet as brown sugar that melts into the familiar
sensation of raindrops upon bare shoulder blades.
And fingers upon key boards
and water dripping down into a body quenched
from thirst.
I can see echoes of you like shadows flickering
on my ceiling, so when I turn to face you;
the theoretical you;
The place that you should be
the you I can see and smell and taste and touch-
The you that just couldn’t be here:
Well I love you a little too much like an ellipses.
Like you were a starving explorer and me, the girl who can cry out
an eighth sea.
Equipped with landscapes you have never seen before.
But honey, much like the lost walls of Atlantis;
Even once buried under a thousand feet of tranquil ocean,
I will still find a way to tell you that I care.


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