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Literature
ellipsis
she goes to sleep
clawing at her chest with pinpoint accuracy
for an emptiness she can’t describe,
but hates all the same. tomorrowshe will write a letter: “dear boy,
i always wanted to be somebody’s
flowery poem, but the verses carved in my arms
are riddled with ugly clichés. & you are whyi don’t sleep through the night. if
we were a language, i was the
subordinating conjunction, you werethe punctuation.i remember you in staccato
conclusions, solemn absences
of goodbye”
Literature
you talk like a travesty
oh, mercury boy, you can't
write your way out of this
body or out of this mind;
you can pray like it's high-fashion,
insist you're only burning yourself out
(but tell me - do you feel like a god yet?)
if only for murky mirrors &
silver cicadas caught
in your ribcage, you've
got a knack for decaying
Literature
pollen
wasp-waisted beauty
pray into my collarbone
let your snake tongue slither
with the syllables.i wish for soft-chested nights,
and the trickle of champagne down crystal glass.
poppy-lips, lull me to sleep,
nurse my coiling tongue with yours;tap my scalp like a silent drum,
and wind my hair in between your fingers
like broken guitar strings.(serenade me with the buzz of pollen in your kiss.)
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