I loved you to the core of the earth, to the cafe at the end of the universe, but I am not a 16 year old girl anymore - amazed by your smell of your body in the morning and how strong your coffee always was. I don’t stay up at night wondering why you chose her anymore, or touching the bruises in…
Often, I lie in bed and look at you,
Seeing something I adore.
Not in the sense that you are a trinket,
Like a porphyry doll wrapped up elsewhere
- Unsure of its own existence -
But in the sense that, when you wake,
I hate you.
My stomach turns in Katherine wheels -
Scorching from the inside
In riotous, cyclical extravagance,
And as you wake, you burn my hands with your grip,
Like the sting of a dead cigarette
rolled from ashes and lit.
You love too much and too little.
I don’t know which of those is mine:
Where on that scale my toes tip
As you rip my skin with your teeth,
Leaving peach bruises in my nape.
When you tell me I speak too much
And think too little.
Perhaps I’m just as bitter as you become
In the dark when you howl my name
And beg for the same.
When you pull ladders,
True as linear rivers sweeping to the sea,
In my red tights
And convince me we’re ‘making love’.
I don’t scream for you,
at least not how you’d like me to.
When you wake we play charades
Me the book, you the film
You sprain your tongue to find my name
And I find yours first.
But when you sleep, I can lie beside you
And imagine that, behind those dark lids,
Are globes of a softer embrace.
Imagine that those hands that grip my hips
Are experience. Are just warmth;
Never too much, and never too little.
A cove of salt rock
Dressed with oriental wool
Surveys a hamlet
Where a widow wishes
There was just a pale woman
In her Winter coat
But instead a wolf
With paisley Indian fur
Licks its bloodied jaw.
All conversation ceased when
we found spaces
the cold and black days
And all I remember
is we always
loved to have
today and ever
so softly look
this is stunning
Do you still love me, Darling
Now my skeleton is bare?
Now those scars that healed long ago
Are torn beyond repair?
Now that I’ve become a shadow
Of the lover I once was;
A shadow in your memory,
A memory you lost.
Words, scattered in pencil imperfections
Whispering the silvery distance of your regard
Across the jagged seas;
Across the purple sky.
Words, printed with careless affection, sigh
The mundanity of yesterday’s dull schedule -
Read like the schematic
Mapped upon its reverse.
Words - emotives flourish beyond the page,
Their lit’ry shoots ripping through your postcards from Berlin
Taking root in my palm;
Tainting my veins with love.