Bright Blue 

follow my
lines
curve of my
hips

thin gold silver
light
bounces off
thighs

glitter sheen
sparkle
curve of your
lips

swimming over
underneath
waves in your
eyes

flesh on flesh
feel of
your shoulders
against mine

cut into me
like the sun
through the
blinds

at dawn
you are cool
as morning
dew

hands float
down my
back
bone

lips on my
neck
color of
you

bright bright blue

leave me
at sunrise
but never
alone

bright blue

Washing Up 

my hands    are dirty

I’ve been

digging

hit bone, hit earth,

hit rock, hit bone
You are gone
deep in Earth’s

core,

away from the

center

of my heart
You are dead
my hands

are dirty

I’ve been

cleaning

up your

blood

from the rug
Red finger tips

like my mother’s

 

lipstick
I thought I was her

then there was

you

consuming me

like a

fresh

catch
I bit the bait

but never bled

The Pull

never used the room we had
    to grow sunflowers
instead, it rained
    drenching your curls

flattening my face

green filled the space
     but yellow never surfaced
lost in tall grass, i cried
     you rode the leaves into sky

i waited, below

winter came, all was barren
     your breath chilled my bones
i sucked in your air
     like when you vacuumed

like a madman

yet crumbs, hair, lint, and dirt

     remained

i lay on black carpet
     with a blue heart
you stare with black eyes
     whirlwind of dust drags me
all the way back to you

Lifeguard

you
brought the
   blood
and home-
        made salt

it stung
when you
       pricked          me
with that
dirty
needle

I gargled
    salt water           for days
while you
      watched

dehydrated, I
      waited
for the
water
    from your
veins

shriveled up
                 on my
bedroom carpet
    salty
    water
    pour
     ing
from my eyes
 you        watched,
        you waited

current
takes my
                                flimsy
                    body
pulls it
with your tongue
                  lifeless
like the
     shell     of a       crab
              who sheds
exoskeletons
from

time

      to

 time

Ink and Fire

There’s a poet using the same words as me. Stars are the fireworks that get us going. My predecessors scribble with my hands and paper is on fire. Black ink only. We read ourselves in the reflection. Telepathy. The ancestors speak to me through poetry and love. Whisper. Hear them through the trees. I am the line between two poets, connecting in the midnight sky. We weave together the words in which this life is written. The page is hot and angry. It weeps for me. I wipe tears and ink smudges into oblivion. What did it say? It glimmers into nothing like the stars. My mind forgets where it came from.

At night, hands remember when they grab the pen. I write in flames again.

The Last Time

your hair blew curls
into the wind
when you looked
with chestnut eyes
straight into mine
and lied

i knew the lines
in your face
moved with mine
you fooled us both
i cut the ties

cared about your life
more than mine
but you always had
those
dead
black
eyes

Astrology

once, in the morning
I woke up next to the
green
                       nautical

                star
on your left shoulder
I thought about the constellations
what brought us                    here
you, to me

the Lion and the Fish
I am your prey, content
you
                        snatched me
with your paw
out of the rushed river bend
and swallowed me
whole

inside your insides
it is purple
and swollen
                             air
doesn’t seep in
because you hold your breath
because you
    drown

I thought about what happens
when the Lion falls into water
              sinking
                 to
                the
              bottom
or floating, flailing its monstrous paws
crying for help
just for a full stomach
a full heart 

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