#dilatedmoon

His touch is a glass window. With a lift of each finger, Tracing my protruding hip bones, I see inside him a little more. His tender thoughts; A garden of tulips, forever blooming. But when his last touch is a kiss to say good bye once more, The glass window shatters and breaks my skin As he leaves one last shard on my cheek.

The first time our paths crossed was brief. It was a brisk December night. The windows were down and the heater was brushing across my rosy cheeks and cold nose. He switched into second gear and glanced to the right. "That's where he's buried." His eyes locked back on the road and we continued driving. It only took another 6 weeks for us to meet again. He denied every attempt of mine to dive deeper into the pools of his eyes; to meet him at the bottom. You hesitated initially, but finally untied yourself from his ankles and allowed him to surface. He caught his breath and found us both, floating beside him. With his first steady breath, he told me he loved me. I said it back before he even finished. The last time we crossed paths was only 2 short weeks after. He watched you wither away from the impending reminder of your mother; A needle with every thought. You lost yourself before you realized he was not ready to lose you. He picked up the addiction. He loses himself more often than not; But in his own passion and infatuation. His words cascade and rinse down my body; trickling slowly down my shoulder blades Creating tsunamis as they hit the floor. When he's driving, he basks in the sunlight. His hand hugs my inner thigh until he has to switch gears, only to return once again. His eyes glisten as they look at me. He smiles, looks back up to the sun visor with a picture of you, and back on the road again. ~dm

When a boy speaks of a woman's body; How her lack of curves makes her unable to consummate any form of desire I see myself at my kitchen table, the one my family has had for 12 years. I see my father forking out some of his pasta and putting it in my already finished bowl. "Let's hide that ribcage of yours" He laughs to himself and throws back another swig of beer. I swallow back tears and the last bites of pasta. A boy yells authoritatively; Throwing misogynistic terms like a stick to a begging dog. Their heads bow as they obey their classmates, turning any desire into a confirmation of superiority. My dad raises his voice another octave; His face red and pupils dilated. The smell of cheap, watered down beer hits my face just as hard as his fist hits the drywall and leaves a hole in it. "Why is a girl in this math class? It's not a graduation requirement." Words almost as routine as the pledge of allegiance. The boys glance at me as if I'm a foreign exhibit sitting in their classroom Yet they flock over me like starved pigeons over a single piece of bread once the bell signals the end of class. My brother is on the couch with his girlfriend. He orders her to grab him a beer, the coldest one in the fridge. My mother observes. She offers my father a beer too. ~dm

The way his words leave his pursed lips and wisp around her neck Sends her eyes back, rolling with ease and her spine arching. He speaks a language so smooth but it leaves scratches on her shoulder blades. His loose composition smothers her with deep breaths being shared Down his throat and back to hers. I guess that maybe Poetry is the only way to fuck her when she's gone. ~dm

My vision is blurry and my thoughts are deviated. I was stuck between a cheap shot of tequila; Rough, distasteful, and lingering in my throat Until I regurgitate it the next morning. Or the last cold beer in the fridge To sip on slowly; to satisfy me, to put me at ease. I open the fridge and I can't see past my troubled thoughts. I close the door and the bottles clank. I stumble between the old rustic houses with sticky floors Filled with boys with empty hearts and full stomachs, belching uncontrollably. Or the endless nights where his hands trace the outlines of the artwork injected in my skin. I return to the refrigerator. I slam down a shot glass and the gold handle of liquor. Forget the glass; I throw the handle back and take a pull. ~dm

The sanctity of home Has been destroyed by a woman whose words singe my skin Like serpents clinging to infuse my blood with their venom. The laughter that was once so exuberant and lively Is now diminished into nothing but a sadistic woman Reigning off the ignorance of a man blindsided by his manipulated love. This house is not a home. It is a cemetery for my childhood memories that have been tainted And for the man who lost himself.

I promise to walk beside you If I end up ahead of you, I won't let you drag me behind. Nor will you subdue your desires I promise to let my love diffuse through you Like herbal tea with a hint of lemon. My love will cleanse your striving soul And warm you while the crisp air on our front porch bites your skin. I promise to only have eyes for you; They linger as you walk away. I need not worry about your absence For its only temporary. My eyes may gander but they do not seek. Why would I eat my heart out When it is already full? I promise to wear your kisses as art Tattooed upon my skin. I wear them with pride, injected in me. The most prestigious artist Working on me. ~dm