Month: April 2011

i like to take up your name

and twirl it in my fingertips,
nails clicking over the consonants
and smoothing the vowels
to a dull sheen, a drowsy glow
mildly iridescent in the light from my eyes
as i lift it and lay it along my tongue
from tip to surrounding teeth,
close my lips– i don’t swallow,
not at first– and caress the letters
against my palate
until it is almost insensate with the pleasure
of your identity,
your existence,
with you;

i shiver, i shudder, i savor–
i swallow.

Advertisements

case study 01

coffee-burned tongue, i am warm skin
and autumn scented obvious intentions–
parted lips over new-brushed teeth
and languorous postures
between self-conscious glances
mouthing lyrics to someone else’s longing;

unbrushed hair, torn lips– bruised throat–
i am a canvas of corrupted pleasures,
proud displays of abuse splayed in finger- and toothprints
along expanses of flesh unused to tenderness
and demanding further misuse with arching spine,
with clenched jaw and mute whimpers

freud scratches his pate–
cummings’ pen devours the page,
and the great marquis smirks
over his nightcap:

nighttime wanderer across these cerebral ravines,
beware: i take no prisoners.
i capture lovers instead.

bedtime story

once upon a time
my mother worried
and worried
and worried and
worried

she felt guilty
she was seventeen
he lied and
now her father stopped speaking

the guilt and worry
the anger the fear confusion
the lost-ness knotted together

it grew and grew
and then
watered by wondering
waiting and
a bit of hope,

the ball fell out of her womb
and became me.

thursday night in the car

in the backseat that night
his fingers slipped easily beneath my waistband
(further confirming: i need to buy tighter pants)

he clawed his way into my hipbone & thigh &
i chewed my finger
i covered my face, i twisted about
in silence; he slid those fingers (i love them so)
back down into where i wanted him &
i stilled like a startled river;
i looked up into his blank beautiful face & he watched me like always
(oh god, look away from this my undoing)
he rubbed roughly back, hotly forth and dug his nails into me
(always he is marking me for his own like everyone doesn’t know,
can’t they see my need so naked in the daylight fluorescent at night)

& all his touches and torture hurt so gorgeously
but i made no sound or sign (shh, she might hear and discover my weakness,
so oblivious in the driver’s seat)
i could not keep together
& when i came it was one of those shaking rushes
that hurt too much for pleasure & too much not to love.

after he withdrew that hand
i lay on his lap, tired & blinking owlishly
& i loved him all over (again).

and after,

and when he’s done, each time
i grip his shoulders as he moves–
i give up pride. no, i beg him, don’t move
(do not remove your weight, baby
you’re all i have to hold me down as i lay here,
quiet dust)

stay here, stay in this room, this bed
stay in me (please just long enough to blur reason and reality
into hyperboles of intimacy, all i want is)
i want to feel you just a bit longer

& he is reluctant to acknowledge the scene too long
so i dig my stubby nails in hard to make
closed-eye imprints that won’t last on his skin
(too resilient) and then, again
(again, again, oh again)
i let him go.

leave me my denial

let us not speak in nevers
as thunder asserts itself beyond
this window and the room washes in greens
and grays, speak not of forevers in definites–
only the finite nature of this punishment
which no crime required, please baby,
say nothing of not and don’t ever anymore

remind me of nothing indicative
that i may not know the unreality of your softness
or rough thumbs between my teeth,
the uncomfortable force of your hand atop mine
between your thighs or the violence
with which you claimed me those times

speak not of entombing my flesh inside forever
without the blackness of your gaze alighting its nerves
and fibers. i don’t want to hear anymore,
please don’t speak, only cover my mouth
and cover my body with yours, bury me
and push me out into quiet ecstasy
one more time

i’m not always unhappy

on his way into work
he stops, stares, freezes in the heat
picks up his phone and dials– says
“there are four red cars
in a straight line in front of me!”
past the doors he unwraps a cube of watermelon gum
and pops it into his mouth. the taste thrills him.
the bag which holds his lunch is a dull blue,
and he smiles;
he finds pleasure in such simple things.