Monday, October 24, 2011

I Want (It Was Good) ★★★

I want to tell him
of the black on my lips
almost resembling bruises
but not quite
stained from where I tipped the brushes
on my tongue
the ink
tasting almost metallic
I can't say why
I want to tell him this
other than
that I want to tell him everything
the trivial meanderings
and anecdotes
but even more the things like
of the star that fell
on the night we burned those books
in the abandoned lot
or why I look to the stars at all
and how they tie into me
my thoughts
weightless, tethered
rising, shining, falling
and this, myself
I could be vulnerable in this way
for him
I want to shed my husk
guided by his firm touch
these walls I have built against the world
and this, myself
to tear apart this carapace
and watch my innermost
fragile, delicate, necessary parts
unraveling into the open air
so he might sort through them
and this
your soul
and this
your heart
do not be afraid
and he might then see me
for every flaw and fault
regarding every dream
every moment of dissonance
yes, so it is
and with all this inside him
we would piece it back together
as best we could
tentative but resolute
laughing back the uncertainties
and he would pull me to him
take me in
and we would
face our tiniest deaths
and have our almost overlooked
but unmistakably glorious

No comments:

Post a Comment