#oddtype

Unseen Dew Glow Balm from Oddtype sold by Twenties Beauty

We have a poetry project up! Submit your poem here.

She runs her nail under the swell of my breast, blows a warm breath into the flames that ignite deep under my navel, white ribs crackling to fuel the fire that burns my cheeks, curls the edges of my spine until I arch up to that greedy mouth, wet teeth that devour every inch of damp skin, every beating pulse point . Through parted lips, my dry tongue begs for the single drop of moisture that clings to the dip in her upper lip. Whimpers build and die in the rhythmic heaving of my chest These are the nights I rise from the embers of my own destruction.

Ask me for one more kiss and I'll give you the world Twirl its stem in my fingertips, bring it to your dry lips, Drink from the moist palms of those before us, I will hang it around your neck—a rose gold locket of synapses— glittering like wet stones, simmering in the pheromones radiating from the jackpot of your eyes, those jungle soaked windows disrobing the rest of our lives.

If this sounds good, submit here.

Relearn how to walk the straight and narrow. Emulate the bars you’ve been put behind. Like a child, think about what you’ve done for three or twenty months or years. When you see the outside again, will you emerge reformed? Or will this punishment be just enough to give the illusion of paying for your trespasses?

What do you do when you cross that line in the sand? Get on your knees and hope your hands can smooth the divide between before and after without leaving any fingerprints. Get up and go forward, hope no one looks too close. Else throw yourself on the altar of justice. Plead for forgiveness, or find a light to cast the shadow of doubt.

Everything is lines and boxes, from schoolyard hopscotch to asphalt crosswalks— you’ve learned the rules of where to keep your feet. But draw enough lines and someone will cross them, seeking a shortcut, an escape route, or perhaps just the feel of new ground beneath their soles.