i. you’ve taught me darkness,
sour pain and rotten tongues laid bare
silence, then a sudden cacophony
ringing and the smell of burnt caramel
and get your fucking hands off of me,
you do not own me anymore.
•
you called for me,
begged, spurned everything for my favour
and I felt the shards
of what you left behind
twist and dance inside of me.
you held my past in your palms,
and bargained it for my future
and I was never good at business,
but I knew I needed
this.
needed closed blinds and coffee holders
and bare hearts and look at me from across the room, and hold me in public and don’t fucking act like I don’t mean anything and why the fuck couldn’t you do that for me
•
your caramel used to be sweet,
but with the flame that licked my feet,
it has turned black and impossible to eat.
•
ii. you are a porch light on the shoreline,
moths against your back
and seawater rinsing your toes,
where I float, head under,
waiting to succumb.
•
at first, it was a jolt –
a tense brush against,
gazing, alcohol wetting our teeth,
share a seatbelt and a sofa.
now, it is a current,
streaming within and without,
and you know I am insecure,
and I know you are too,
but we know we are here,
and this is reason enough to be,
and we share the same seatbelt
under the same car roof.
•
your hands are home.
I can’t go back.
•
12/27/18
Tofu 