Do I dare bleed these words
without cauterizing them first,
peel back my skin
until what lies within
a splintered bone of pain
juts from the core of me
stabbing that swollen moon?
A sack of abandoned faith
sits on my dresser
next to the photo of you.
Your fire died,
and still I lie under a sagging sky
willing
your eyes to materialize.
I am in love
with the wraith
of a memory.
My warrior wanders
the edges of my dreams
his steel gaze sawing
through the bars of my ribcage.
He purses his mouth like a question
always asking, “Yes or no?”
Cold in my bed,
I pray for you, and
instead he
comes to me
with tender hands
until I finally see
he was always
the one.
“Yes.” I breathe,
letting the blade of his desire
cut me.
The steps I take toward him
are the closest I have come
to dancing
since you gutted me
with your song.
I long to sleep always
with the answer of me
curled into the warm
question mark
of his body.
Again and again,
I have shuffled through men
like a deck of cards
wanting one to match you,
but he has stilled my hands
by being something truer
than that
a pure animal spirit
apart
from them
or you.
Three times now,
I have soaked
in the soft under his hard,
probing his skin
until his secrets surfaced
in the fluttering of his breath.
His last kiss
drew a “yes” from my bones.
You are my memory.
He is my now.
The door opens.
Abandoning a vow
I made to a man
who never saw me,
I walk toward
my warrior,
kneel to drink
from the cool pool
of his dreams,
hungry
to taste his tongue.
His mouth has become my mercy.
His marrow has swallowed my bones.
Burlesque Press 