Pillow Talk

Aright, lets talk about sex—

but before I go any further I think its best I apologize

because I refuse to swallow my words—I’d rather aim for your eye

because I’m tired of all this talk, all this boasting about how getting off is your expertise

when really you fellas should be aiming to please.

And ask any lady here and she will agree that

you boys need some schooling, a.s.a.p.

Because I met this guy back in 2009

that got me back to his room after a bit too much wine

I’m only kidding, it was after the vodka and shots of tequila

that had me aching for his vine.

We were lying on his bed, lips moving, no words being said

when He pulled away and whispered “ohh baby you’re rocking my world”

and you know what..I made him leave,

made him feel like he had a fucking disease

because boy, if your world is rocked by my lips

honey, you can’t handle these hips.

And if you got to ask “uhh was that alright?”

then you know you got it wrong

because when it comes to my men

I don’t need you to be nice; don’t need you to be polite

because I’m the type of women that needs to be handled

to be thrown, pulled

and for the noise we make to cause a scandal

through the dorms and down the road

I need to feel is from the inside of my eyes

to the tips of my toes.

So next time we’re at the bar

and you’re feeling like yours is a super star

you better slip something in my drink

before you approach me and my words make it shrink.

Happy Ending

When the stars fell

you packed my shirts

pants

sneakers

bras and underwear

and called me

a piece of shit

The glass frame you punched didn’t shatter or smash

it melted around your knuckles and made you feel more like a man.

it made me small

scared

and even more breakable under your arm

You always hit me hard enough to crack the bone just below my eye—

but not hard enough to turn it purple

or blue

or black.

But now we’re older and this relationship has shriveled up

with the laughter and schoolyard games

I never remember you allowing me to play.

It’s all turned to forgotten rubble.

There are no praising passing words

no memories that haven’t collapsed under pain

no rosary beads left to rid me of your haunting voice reassuring me

that without you, I’ll die

alone on a sheetless

stained, lumpy

twisted

mattress.

Hopefully I'll Be Dead

I forget how it feels not to run through your head

Time drones on and my feet tingle and feel so weak

a bit more time, and I’ll be dead

And every night as I lay down on my bed

I am dusty and grow to be an antique

I forget how it feels not to run through your head

My eyes dry out and can’t recall what they’d just read

My tongue grows coarse and can’t comprehend how to speak

A bit more time, and I’ll be dead

It’s hard to regret the words I have never said

My white shirt’s gone yellow and my underarms reek

I forget how it feels no to run around your head

The veins in my legs explode and from them bled

My cavity filled mouth has corroded my cheeks

Just a bit more time, and hopefully I’ll be dead

My breath in my chest slows, feeling like lead

And there’s no point to fight this fatal losing streak

Now I know how it feels to not run through your head

It was just enough time to rot and now I’m dead.

Dreaming Apart

I want to sleep a sleep that lasts for months—

Four months to be exact. And when I dream,

I want to dream of darkness and to hear only

Breaths being taken in. But even then, rest

Is intangible. You live in my neck and are

Always pushing your way north. You pull

My hair and dig your claws into my scalp just

So you can invade my thoughts—they are taken

Off guard as they surrender and the pictures

Behind my eyes fade from black to images of you

That are so vivid I can feel your hand upon my cheek

And hear the tears cracking your composure as you

Whispers How I bring your dreams more promise

For a better future then you’ve ever had before.

11 Ways to Look at Your Freckle

I

Your freckle hides away in

the mountains

Of your shoulder blades

II

Every night

My lips search

For your freckle

Through the darkness

III

Your Freckle isn’t big,

It isn’t misshaped;

It’s perfectly unnoticed

IV

Your freckle sends shivers down

my spine

everytime you arch your back

ever so slightly

V

Everytime you put

Your shirt back on,

to your freckle,

I whisper

“Until next time, my love.”

VI

As we sleep and

you lie away,

my hand reaches for

your back—for your freckle

to make sure your still there

VII

Trying to convince your freckle

Not to leave town

Was like

Asking the sun

Not to come up for a day or two

VIII

And now I’m tired and coffee tastes

like mud

when I don’t have your freckle there

to wake me every morning

IX

When you left, I saw freckles everywhere.

On faces

arms

legs.

X

I wanted to cut every freckle

out from everyone else’s

undeserving skin

XI

Without your freckle

my life is an endless search for

the moon

the sky

and the stars

In a world of darkness

Love in the Winter

Time slows

As his shovel slams

Cracks and destroys the ice

My breath freezes and

Shatters in my chest

As my thoughts stop

To a point of reversal.

Our bodies pass,

Lips alined to his neck

And musky smell

Of wood and age.

As my foot takes it’s final moment

In slow motion

I have to catch my fingertips

From reaching back

And touching

His wool cap and wrinkled jeans

I have to catch my eyelashes

From wishing they could be the razors

That hugged and kissed

His neck—his chin

And embraced his deep smile lines.

Through the Nights

This bed I lay upon reaches its hands up through

the mattress and ties the muscles in my back as if

they were laces in a shoe. Ones to be laces and

unlaced without mercy. This bed I rest my head

upon that once embraced the two of us now holds me

hostage as sheets wrap around my mouth. My legs

and arms unable to move as the sheets wrap secure

around them. This bed that was able to soak up all

of our movements and sweat for so long has turned

it pillows to cold pavement and whispers the mocking

words of “how can you stomach yourself” while lusting

after the tears that fall between the cracks. But with each day,

the knots loosen and the words are silenced as my dreams

of falling fast into my pillow of concrete fades to black.