no,
i'm no superhuman
god is alive and she's right beside me
in a black lace bra and smudged lipstick
like chateauneuf du papa
staining my neck like her wineglass.
her thrysos and ivy wreath, my cult leader.
light beams in on her as she sleeps
morning sun bleeding into the sky,
like ink prevailing to fluid
in shades of honey and sap.
i'm no superhuman
i eat the apple and the seeds too
waking up late because my dreams are sweeter
making my ribs ache as if i'm with her.
she bruises me but it feels like true love
the ecstasy of her witchcraft, pleasure coma
welcome to her brave new world.
it's never as good as the first time she let me in.
dancing on tables like solar flares,
sky black and as deep as tar, sinking
until we can't feel ourselves. it's 4am, birdsong
cutting through her spell. i don't care, i'm not here. tomorrow she'll be gone
now the wildfire claims our space
her final trick, chiton folding in on itself
like a plastic bag flailing across the highway.
i want to be used by her, now she's gone
and over done.
my altar caves in on itself, charred remains.
childless, no face to put a name to.
YOU ARE READING
you, and my materials.
Poetrygive me a few moments of your time so that i can dress you up in poetry give me your eyes, see the world through mine i beg you to be gentle, please have empathy this is your world, on the floor, by the bed like laundry, pick me up and use me. s...
