c'est bon

 like that your language is not my first,

because when you say that

you want to take me,

again,

i certainly wouldn’t say no.

i didn’t come to this city

to break my body,

and i don’t believe

that you’re going to fix it,

but it sometimes feels healed

while tethered with yours.

you are not like any

that i’ve known,

you are cream against a washed out palette,

the tennis montage

in a romantic comedy,

you are velvet on my skin,

a wave under a tangerine sky.

you are warm breath.

and you keep space,

yet, you always bring me 

so close.

you held my pressure points

and kissed my spine,

you squeezed my hand

as though you wanted to ring me out,

from the things i didn’t need.

in the dark, my face can’t flush,

but i don’t think you would’ve wanted it to.

the first time i met you,

you told me i deserved it

in the most tender way 

it’s been spoken,

and even though your eyes were still

moons,

while the sun was coming up,

i still think you meant it.

tu m’a dit que tu voulais un hippocampe,

et je t’aime pour cela

rouge

with you,
my mouth was always dry,
and you liked to keep it that way.
i got too stoned to sing,
and couldn’t remember my lines,
when all i wanted was a little 
control.
you figured everything out
before i even knew you,
and i still don’t understand myself,
but maybe you might.
i spoke of the wrong region,
when we talked about where you grew up,
hell if i knew,
but they both started with a k.
i fumbled with my orange peels
and citrus stained my hands,
and legs,
and my fingernails were glowing,
but that was a wonderful taste.
you are a magnet 
and you felt so right to touch,
and not touch.
then you helped me to the counter,
and i crumbled
while you rolled,
and we talked about loves
until i lost my voice.
when you cross the ocean,
and i remain still,
i will think of you so fondly,
and you will remember
how much i fear caterpillars.

untitled

don’t,
don’t be ashamed of your body,
you said.
don’t be shy,
dont be empty, 
as though this was something
that could’ve made me feel
anything but hollow.
you broke the bone
in my body
that should’ve taught me how to be anything but 
still.
don’t be angry,
don’t be sad,
don’t be anything that 
you wouldn’t like. 
because to feel,
would mean i’m no longer 
yours. 
and now i can barely fucking stand
on my own two feet,
because of every person that told me
all the things
i should not do. 

shapes aint shit

i was the spitting image of 
everything that you hated,
but you kept me;
because you needed to feel.
a body, 
or just another breath:
anything to remind you 
that you weren’t alone.
and when your slice of the moon
touched you,
it made me believe that i was saved.
though all along,
when i though you had been writing
'i love you',
and, ‘i’m sorry’
into my skin,
it was really just a tally
of every second that you wanted 
to leave.
to be ashamed,
only meant that i could still feel,
and though i knew it was never my neck
that you dreamt of,
i let you have it,
because i believed it was the only one
that you had.
and at the end of the day,
when your legs became tired,
but your mind was the most awake,
at least you had the decency
to tell the satin girl in your bed
that she was beautiful,
because that was the most that you believed 
she would ever be.

you piece of shit

"why don't you want me to be happy?"
i ask, or plead,
beg.
though, i don't know who 
i'm speaking to.
such hostility, i line my words with
concrete edges,
hardened, like the docile statue i feel
i now resemble.
and i stay confused;
unsure of who it is that i am to resent.
everyone is a barricade,
and every pale limb of mine,
or yours,
is just another chain, with a lock
and a key, 
that nobody wants me to find.
under your tongue, in your throat,
in your fucking pathetic mind.
you give me trails with dead ends
or none at all,
because you want me to remain lost.
and i swear,
that if you place one more brick on top of 
the weak foundation which you created,
you moulded,
and you left,
i certainly will collapse.

untitled SB

on, it was like a trip.
through neon clouds
and flashing,
throbbing light spots,
i hallucinated.
i hallucinated you,
and for you.
i longed for the shadow
who would have held the gun,
too;
and i cry tears, still,
still not knowing
if they are from you,
or for you.
and to think,
i have gotten what i wanted.

coordinates

 can remove myself,
and replace my body
with another,
replace the front door
with a staircase,
and leave, or let go.
i can contort myself,
and taste the discomfort,
lick my lips
or another’s
and learn once again,
how to breathe.
distance held me close,
and it kept me warm
and still;
and still, i remain the only place
i cannot leave.