I knew once
we were soulmates,
touching until the stillness dripped
and tore holes in our clothes, we
were parentheses in between and
explaining. We were alcohol, a
broken bed, and we were wet
with chapped lips. We were cliches
of sloppy sex of you slipping inside
me until we were fun. You were my
bruises and my neck holding tightly
with every fuck. I became a map
of you. Marks and trails of your
orgasms and we would hurt for
the sounds and to find our bodies
truly. And I have romanticized
our sweat and being your slut.
Dirty thoughts and animal wounds
tearing each other to be closer.
We've ruined each other out of
love and minutes of feeling
anything outside our stained,
rough home made out of doing
the dishes and our filthy sheets.
YOU ARE READING
dirt & human
PoetryThis collection has the dirt for my grave and my soul for God but when it rains there's meaning for my muddy heart. (Some of the poems are older and published already, I moved them to this collection, so if you recognize a poem that's why.)
