A Mutilation

My hips are riding higher and your fingers are gliding closer to the milky crescent of skin. You run your delicate fingertips over creamy white scar tissue quickly followed by your tongue. I am mutilator inside this body cradled against you; you cry at each scar you caused. A lifetime is traced out in every faded wound; every memory we have is etched here like a epic poem written in blood and flesh.

You say, "I remember this one. You screamed at me all night long and broke a glass against the kitchen floor. What were we fighting about? I can't remember."

Was it violet light that sparked my anger? Was I so caught up in my own mind that I slashed my arm with no understanding of what that would mean? Did the blood dripping down my hand keep my alive? I can't remember.

You slide your lips over each hard tissued-memory and mumble apologies against my skin. The scars hum at your touch; spark blunted emotions and jagged delusions inside my taxidermied heart. Have these scars reached my eyes; can you see this violence seeping out as I hold you against me? Is my love cast in violet light as my anger is?

Hold me tight against you so these scars can flow between us. They will start to inch from my skin to your skin and we will be like a marred monument to our own lives. Though our love is flawed it is ours to keep in this house of lover's mutilation wrapped in each others warm bodies and unending in our destructive devotion.

Drowning Days

You have that slow-drowning feeling to you. I can feel your fingers around my ankles and you are pulling me down under perfectly calm blue-green waters. Wrapping yourself around me like seaweed; a slow wet hug squeezing the air out of my lungs. Replacing it with silken fluid.

You can breathe down here. You can open your mouth and let the water flood in. You live on the tiny microbes filling your belly. Feed on their brief lives and snuff them out with your constant hunger. Your eyes illuminate from the inside out so you can see in the darkest depths. Your skin has turned to scales in these ebbing tides.

I, however, am drowning in your sweetness. You are whispering "Ophelia" in my ear; over and over and over again. I can feel petticoats growing heavy around me; these delicate chains of blue flowers twisting in my fingers. I stare at the too clear sky and feel the water lapping at my cheeks. "Ophelia... Ophelia... He is crushing your heart; pulling you down. Can you not see his insanity bringing you to sandy ocean floors and rocky river bottoms? Your body will flow over miles and miles of sunken civilizations forever immortalized in sailors' hoarse-throated songs. You can not breathe water like air, girl..."

These ebbing tides that keep you alive with movement will eventually wash my body ashore. My mouth full of pearls; my eyes covered over in scales. Your marshy touch will dress my body in cat-tails and swamp bugs; little brightly coloured fish will dart from my heart to my lungs. Seabirds will nest in my hair in the filmy half light from deep unexplored pools. I have become the shipwreck of your soul.

Good night, sweet ladies.
Good night.
Good night.

Scenes from Ice

Cool moonlight casts through the window; this bed becomes a frozen tundra. We are each occupying a separate border land with all this empty space between us. It is too much for either of us to transverse; my hand will not dart out from under the covers to find yours. You have locked your wrists together over your heart and turned your back on me. The curve of your shoulder used to captivate me but now it only provokes me to silent sobbing as I choke down my feelings for you.

You once whispered to me all your sweet futures upon these sheets lying next to me night after night. Your voice was like a vision of deep blue warm pools washing over me in waves; gently lapping at my mind until I fell into quiet slumber in your arms. You held me tightly in the tepid midnight air murmuring melodically in my ear. My dreams turned to sugar at your voice as I drifted in and out of this warm room.

The stars have come out now and cast the room in chilly darkness. I can see your features as ice in arctic temperatures; my breath turning to crystals as it falls upon the pillow. Your form is now frozen in my pain; the whole world has become snow around me. I am caught here, trapped between this tower of ice and your anger. I have grown so very very cold and I fear nothing shall ever warm me again.

This tundra grows and stretches the distance between us. I can see you getting smaller as you pull away from me on this continental drift. The ice has finally reached your eyes and I know your heart has turned to a cold lump of meat and frozen tissue. It has lost its animation, its ability to move and beat, as you have lost your love for me. I have not changed for I am trapped here but you... even cast in ice, you have completely warped yourself into a state of inertia.

In this frozen wasteland, I turn my back on you and search for a spark to burn the fucking room down...