When you say No
I take off my sheet
You ruffle my hair
Humming the tune in your head
Ignoring the rest of me.
You don’t understand my craving
Because it is not yours
I wait for you to fuck me
Instead, you play with my fingers
Tell me how much you love me.
The hollows in me, don’t understand this
I have had friendships, I want no more
Am I asking for too much, my heart?
I want your skin and all the flesh in it
We’ll save compatibility quizzes for another day.
My silences like to knit long yarns
Spilling story after untold story
For us, this is life
What didn’t happen.
When the words lived
Things could still come to be
We shed them one by one
Till we began to wear death.
This silence feels like a new language
The one you can’t hear, that’s forever whispering
Untaught by life, awoken by tragedy
Sometimes, it is the only reason we still breathe.
When you talk on the phone
During our beautiful dinner
Teased to perfection
I want to lean across
And rip your vocal cords out.
I’ll serve it with the already
Tossed salad, adding a dash of vinaigrette
Chew slowly, wiping the dribble
With a starchy arched napkin
Prearranged to impress the peacock.
You’ll stare wordlessly
With eyes that miss your noise
And finally we’ll have that dinner
I dreamt of, quietly intimate
Replaying the days when you used to speak to me.
When my feet hit the sand
A large coiling python
Emerges from my eyes
And swallows everything in sight
Food, people, beer
All of it disappears
Into a satiated smile.
A small, smelly fart breaks out
This silent, vile, tiny reminder
Of reality that blots out the sun.
I love your extremities
Clean, scrubbed, arched flats
Moulding, kicking, teasing, cupping
These ends that begin
Desire in me.
My body is colour blind
To my bruises
I want to
Cut off its parts
My limbs, navel, skin
My thighs, nose, toes
As they fall
Hitting the ground
They’ll create a haze of dust
That will rise like a tomorrow
Then, perhaps, I’ll finally see
The colour of blood.
My skin is wearing itself out
Wearing me in
Containing these excessive emotions
Wasn’t part of its job description.
As wrinkles, worry and age grow on it
It doesn’t get any wiser
But sags with the the load of cells
Refusing to stop multiplying.
It has no religion or books for solace
The heart occasionally murmurs a pit-pat lullaby
But falling asleep isn’t an option
Just like peeling off and running away.