…you just want to see the mess, you said.
was it as bad as you hoped?
I recognize it, recognize the porn. I recognize the player I’m supposed to be in the scene you’re mindless reenacting.
The pity I feel for us both scatters my heart in a million sharp tear-shards, even as you grab my hair again and I like it even better this time.
this is less sex than excavation. other nights I went alone to Coliseum Park, water dripping off darkened leaves, that’s when it fucked me real. running my hand over the crape myrtle bark and closing my fingers around a memory of roughness. i know what i am. staring up at black powerlines crisscrossing luscious violet night, feeling it stare back down, current and waiting.
orange streetlights sought and hid, and I walked through air like water. outlined in enormity, the oaks, black and active, twisted in their wet stew of mast.
and there, off-center and shy, circled-around, forgotten–shrine.
she said through his lips: there is only one purpose in life, to be a fountain of light.
we know, or think we do, what it means to feel alive. I think I knew, or thought I did. one brief zap of the body, bringing the mind down to dance with it helplessly in my chest, before it raised like a dazed balloon back into the viewing-dome of my skull.
girl, you pounded later. girl. girl. girl girl girl. girlgirlgirlgirl, stacking like witch-crushing stones, methodical,
age-old mantra against creatures of dark dirt mind. song of not this, never this, please, I’ve got this. look at me gotcha. vain hope for a new skin, empty and ready for wearing.
you this, you said, you that. yeah.
I’ve got bad news, bi boy. you fucked me like a man.
you reached a different vein than you sought, not that you thought. how do I know? my bones rang, that old song. rusty, unearthed so quickly, humming to life like the flat gray sleep-deprived dawn. that old song, the one you fear, the one you thought silencing me would silence.
lay a girl suit down, down to where she doesn’t want up, and no guy will ever dance you? sure that’s the right spell? i’m not.
you spit that poison thrice, and it coated my inside, just enough to show me the shape I’m now.
but settling in as of old again, to digest and die–that I can no longer lie. girl? my darling. I’m grinning with the excess, and it’s slipping from my tongue to pool on the ground outside. in these rainbow gutter puddles, your jealous strides away to nothing.