the girl with love in her bonesHer lips are a smoky colorthe type of chapped things with paled, cracked edges and words hanging off, clothed by the least incessant whines and the most liberating cries. They're somewhat extended and exemplified through the cigarette in her moutha thin figure held between the sticks of her fingers with filtered lips of its own, ashing edge, a paled body, and a slow burning with every breath. The grayed portions fall off in a dirty, snow rubble on the sidewalk, burning into it, leaving small holes by her feet."I don't understand," I say.She sighs, breath coming out white, warm in the icy air. "It's a human thing." Her eyes are red, raw around the skin, and her corneas glint blue above the thick smoke, like a cat'sexcept it wasn't darkness, but the exhaust of flameclouds before morning rain, the lights of a city blaring through the smog of night."I still don't understand.""It's liberating," she says, and I can see her eyes on mine. Her nose is flushed red lik
'X' Marks The SpotI am a pirate,a ghost among the sunken shipof your treasure trove heart.Like the last bit of rum in the jug,I enjoy the way 'fuck' rolls off your tongue,as if you invented its meaning.I try to articulate that one syllable,match your way of speech-You've never needed to dress your words-dip them in ink or paint them in poetryupon the exotic map of my sun-kissed curves.I have drowned so many timesin the green sea of your eyesthat I am coughing up seaweed& weak bones.You tell me not to speak-that such words sound dirty on my tonguethat my spine is made for beautyand not for a bounty.But you, you are a plaguelight-years at seaand I am finding the oceanthrough seashells& salty siren lips.