paper thin

but if this is the end of the line for us,  for you, as it will never be, for me, then i only have one last wish, and it is this: that you will find someone to love as greatly as i have loved, will love, you.

when i make wishes i close my eyes, pinched penny pressed between my fingers, let it take flight; the arc de triomphe against pale porcelain azure, hear it clink! the bells ringing at twilight- sinking with the softness of a lover’s kiss, inhale with the words i wished to say, exhale with the words i say instead, open my eyes & watch the copper glint in the soft sunlight, heavy with promise.

last night i tasted god on my tongue, slow & sticky sweet, touched, with golden fingers & whispers in my ear sacrilege of the highest order. oh! that crimson blush stained dark on peach kissed cheeks, yearning dripping languidly along notched spines & collarbone crevices. last night i traced your bronzed skin, & smiled, & wanted.

i don’t believe in religion, but baby, when your fingers tangled in mine and your wings unfurled from your back i believed in you

i don’t want to know what unhurting is because part of me will always ache when i think of you, part of me will always crumble when i touch you, part of me, will always love you, and perhaps that is what hurts the most.

i. you are twenty when you first step onto that stage- you had been on similar ones before, seen the crowds, danced with others, but this was the first time you had something to call your own. you are twenty, and there’s hair covering your eyes and you’re nearly struck speechless when the audience screams for you, and you tell yourself to never forget this moment, because you will never feel this way again.

two a.m. & you are a study in moonlight, halo formed of stardust, the kind of ephemeral sweet that melts in your mouth like spun sugar on your tongue. six p.m. & you are crushed velvet, wings unfurled, tucked neatly across strong arms that have known the weight of the world. seven a.m. & you are a cadenza, waltzing along to the music, the wondrous rhythm of your flesh and blood, the cadence of your heart. eleven p.m. & you are a quiet smile, softly sent in the dark, & it is small & secret & ours.

define: ache

it begins like this; he tells you he loves you, and god, you swear you’ve never felt this way before but you know- he is all rough edges but you tear him inside out pull at the soft flesh until he unravels then winds back around you a cocoon, a metamorphosis, and you wonder if you will change when you emerge, bursting- it ends like this; you consume him, devouring and you tell him you love him, you swear it, but you no longer know what love means.

you are seventeen and you think you can crack the world open with the soft flesh of your hands, think you can scoop the meat from the earth and bring it to your lips, suck out the blood, the gristle, the marrow, and you are hungry. you are seventeen and you think you are a conqueror, a warrior blind to mortality, teeth bared, and there is nothing tender about you. you are seventeen, dripping with arrogance and unspoken promises, and you are raw, and wild, and dangerous.

look: you, the mark you left on my neck the last time your arms cradled shoulders eroded from fingerprints look: you, hazy in the twilight, shadows sloping beneath eyes rimmed with nostalgia look: you, the hair that falls over skin too soft for the pricks of war look: you, glorious in the sun, fresh-faced & damning, conquest thrumming like the blood beneath your skin look: you, you, you.

they are a study in scarlet blush red in the haze of early morning sun idly, she wonders, wonders how decay & death & ruin look on a girl like her, a girl with no name, wonders how she sleeps with eyes open & not sewn shut, wonders why she still feels when she is dead.

and still, I wonder when our names will stop tasting like a tragedy in my mouth

there’s a hole, square in the middle of my chest is it an entrance wound, or an exit, i can’t remember which; funny, though how they look the same.

you broke your teeth, for the bone of my lies and bled, for the marrow of my truths.