Pillow Talk

Penetrative silence, he says,
“You’re hard to read” and
We’re trying braille
But “it hurts”, won’t break
the weighted hush upon lips
I’d rather touch than open.

“It gets better”, as motive
ulteriorly folded between sheets
tucked in with tongues and fingers,
mismatched plates and movies
he’s already watched before.

Or as mistranslated reassurance,
face value shouldn’t cost more,
he pours water, personal, I’m lying
my crown where foreign heart beats play,
parting lips, “This is nice”.

SS

Crows on Concrete

She lies a sidewalk
burning souls, dying
on a summer night
morosely ascetic
hair curling, curled earlier
a precarious charm
meant as curative
for another weekend
entombed, concrete feet.
Crows, satin cackles, claw
obsolete across her lips
unaware of the introverted
oddity, feeling
tonight, distinctly, alone.

SS

Summer Break

a gaping mind,

battlefield seepage, 

feels disoriented, raw

helpless

when faced with four months 

of personal leisure,

a holiday?

SS

My feet fell asleep

The sun’s awake today. 

It’s nice,

I guess

Warm at least, but not me. 

I’m thick in something 

like a duvet drowned in ice. 

A downfilled fog, 

distant summer 

SS

May

Self-prescribed expectations 

of a birthday, almost

20 is an adult already. 

Needs a license

a car

a boyfriend, significant 

other, lover

work, work, work

on digging in the dirt. 

You need a vacation

sunset destination. 

Always buried under

something, unfortunately

not a man, they scoff

she must be empty 

hearted, full minded. 

A social experiment

in anxiety.  

SS 

Lust is

flippant

impervious

smirking

eyebrow raises

fired

a classroom range.

An academic

distraction.

SS

(Good) Morning

She woke up, unfortunate

fortunately warm

and safe

and breathing

herself

in a gentle metronome

before consciousness, still

a faded figment of a sketched girl. 

Then the pen slips, 

buckets slosh,

cold, icy ink condensates

along her brow;

the queen adorned, woven

in a tiara of anxiety,

awakes.  

SS

Fed

Artichoke heart carved

from salty girls

shaken dry,

eyelashes drooped.

 

Slow

365 revolutions again,

already, I guess.

Forced upon my head,

calendars flipping in the wind,

as another semester concludes.

Half done an education,

my last education, and then?

Adulthood, they repeat,

simple crisp words, cutting

infantile flesh,

carving hurry up.

SS

Hush

(silent)

rebellion

(opposing)

opposers

SS