It tastes like the last piece of chocolate
inside my mouth,
and I’m bored with wasting time
pretending to savor dull things.
I should hide my shine for you.
Appease your forever-melancholy
by scraping the diamonds from inside my own eyes.
You would gladly watch me rip the grateful words out, my tongue dead in my fist
except that I am new now,
and you – too bitter to pass my lips –
are free to fly away.
I’m sure you had a logical reason
for quietly leaving me behind,
a justifiable synopsis
that made drifting away effortless.
I was confused and hurt,
like a wild animal almost tame
but not quite.
You were my balloon outside the carnival gate,
all those years ago.
So,
what if I breathe in
then out
and drop the string I held too long for you?
There is pleasure in that,
in being weightless for a while.
Dearest,
We live in different worlds,
you in a brain
and I in a heart.
So,
this is how I say
Goodbye.
Offer my ears riches,
they’ve been blind in darkness too long.
Deliver more to me than dry, bare bones.
Utter something raw and true.
Make it sting.
Say something real.
Speak something worthy.
Leave me certain of your intentions.
I am too strong to pine for definitives a moment longer
But
Make words that are more than empty shells of what could be,
and I will risk my soul to bathe in the light with you.
Write something painfully sexy on my body
with your tongue.
I adore that part of you
which models such stunning sounds
from heavily blank air.
Mold a piece of my heart
into something of use to you
with hands that leave me no language of my own
except a vocabulary belonging to dark and carnal things –
the kind of beast I want to be
when I’m finally free.
My hair is its own color again,
and it is happy and soft for it.
My eyes still look green when I cry,
and I can appreciate that hue.
Sometimes my thoughts feel red and loud
while they beat against the inside of my head.
Luckily, my bones are tempered with enough silence
to contain the commotion.
So I smile and go along with whatever the world is saying.
I wonder if they ever hear the echoes
from beneath the insulation of my contented mane,
and if they do,
why don’t they say something?
Lift your head, Child.
The gentle snow is falling lightly
while you gaze at dark things behind your eyes.
Don’t drag your feet, making them anchors for your misery,
letting them pull your sight away from today’s beauty.
It will never be the same again.
Winter clings to the house with eight walls,
illuminating a past you’ve forgotten
in order to fold in on yourself
like painful origami.
I want a lukewarm love.
I already wear scars from love like molten lava,
not safe for anyone but dragons,
and I am not so fierce or impenetrable.
I nearly lost fingers and toes
to the frigid affections of one man
who was too weak to melt for me,
and I am very much a mammal that hates to shiver.
I want a lukewarm love
to curl around me like a favorite blanket,
soft and perpetual, steady like a lullaby
that tells no tales of burns or frostbite,
because I am a creature of comfort
who no longer bleeds for fun.
I’ll build a wall behind my ears
and darken my eyes to your face.
It will be as if you never tasted me
and I never squandered myself on you.
I’m making something new of me
and leaving out the parts of you
the thoughts of you
the memories of your hands
your lips
teeth
tongue.
I’ll forget your words
and sound
and smell,
the things that tied me down
and kept me still
so that I held my soul in stasis
for you.
There is only me now,
made of new things, strong things, divine things
that you haven’t touched
and never will.
She was empty.
…and then she remembered
there were wildflowers where she came from.
They were life and love and everything that mattered.
The grass murmured adorations in Wind’s ear.
He barely ceased his caress
except for the Still Days
when even the birds sat lazy in trees
and heat rose up on the hilltops
making it too heavy for romance,
too laborous for love.
…and then she remembered
she sits a million miles away
with eagle eyes
and no way home
…and her vessel was emptied again.
The music turned to flowers behind my eyes.
Its fingertips laid kisses on my skin,
and I bloomed when the corners of my mouth
decided they were happy again.
The notes were red wine in my glass
teetering on the rim against my lips,
a languid lapping that set fire
to what little doubt I had left.
Maine Moon 