‘The Home I Find in the 8th of October’

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

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