Bodywash

Your scent's an invasion
like no boy, no body,
has ever done.
Night curls round you,
dreams' scent taunting insomnia, and
I stare at the ceiling,
stare at the back of your skull, and
eventually I pass out. Wake up
alone with hands smelling like
you, gone, down
between bars of flesh and
morning sunlight and
gray rain,
leaving me arched on the couch
knowing that you like to see this
but I'm shy.
Even though I love you, I'm embarrassed of myself.
Why is it so much easier to watch than to show?

you talk a lot for someone who can't communicate.

You say you should quit cutting,
you should forget me.
I am not as understanding
as the woman we shared twelve months ago
when I knew you were distancing
too chickenshit to admit it
drank too much
sat by myself
watched your face
while she swallowed
other people admired your erection.

I've rarely known you to do what you should.
Haven't heard your voice in months,
save the twice you've bothered to communicate.
Not that I'm counting or anything.

I'm counting.
Even though math isn't my strong suit.
I've been spacing from you
gasp and burst, like orgasms
I used to bring you to,
in our hairspray haze.
White spray on black nail polish,
blurred youth's discarded snapshots
more beautiful because
I'll never quite remember or exactly see that boy again.
Alcoholic Adonis in oversized boots.

That was not so long ago,
but the new boyfriend sits across the room
asking why
I've got to pick up mouth corners
over the old boyfriend
suddenly boyfriend is a stupid word,
losing all connection to my reality due to over-repetition,
and the new girlfriend understands.

We held it together too long, and
we took each other too damn far.
If I were a kind woman,
this is where I'd apologize,
but I'm just not sorry.
I lied when I said I was
that cold drug fogged morning.

Tricycles are more stable than bicycles.
The new girlfriend holds my head
More tenderly than she ever held you
Not that I was watching.
Except that I can never look away.

A thing of beauty

She takes what I offer her art, and transforms it into a thing of beauty. In her eyes, I'm magical. That kind of belief is a powerful force.

She is Katie fucking Freeman.
I love her.

Pressing my face into my palm

This, worst written
noncommunicating creation
Unmakes memory
so when I forget
I won't really.

I am terrified elation
Shallow bruised breaths
Change
mind
life
something

I've died,
but it was only a chrysalis.
I'm blood beating through fresh wings
unfurling May morning.

I don't know what the right thing is,
I don't know if I'm doing it.
refusing to focus on terror,
though chiaroscuro blue pulses at the edges of this red core.
I am reduced to noun.
burning eyes staring bleakly at the
(completely normal, mildly dis/content)
world.

I am not the only one, nor am I alone.
But things have come crawling out of my skin
nothing I was aware were there.

They have loved me the longest
have mainly got no idea
where I am
what I'm doing
This is less unusual than my guts think
But not the only way I feel.

Interchange exists.
Blue red neon scream
pushing each other out of the way.
I'm happy.
Incredibly happy.