this isn’t supposed to be erotic

i don’t know whether heartbreak will ever stop tasting

like ripe white peaches ice cold in summer

soft fruitskin popping, giving under my teeth

meat catching between them and dripping

sticky pulses down my chin and fingers.

i pity anyone who has ever lost me.

 

5.29.18 rlb

Advertisements

debutante

i.

Death made me

a little giddy i’ll confess

brushing past on the ballroom floor, an

accidental meeting beneath

lead crystalglass refractions,

a not-quite-teasing

glance that i can’t

be bothered to return because

She left me

the courage to kiss

handsome

girls.

 

rlb 4.5.17

 

debutante, reprise

ii.

There are days, rare days where my lungs are enough and these are the days I live for.

The eyebright days. Sunwise curlwild mindsharp toothsome days. Days when I write too much too fast to get ink on my hands —

— but somehow rake ink stains through my hair between every sentence anyway.

When I could kiss the Sun until she shook or anyone as long as they don’t put a stop to the words that couldn’t stop if I wanted them to. Days where it doesn’t matter whether the Sun shows her face because I am shining,

burning bright enough for all of us regardless of whether I’m happy

I am Hubris and that is enough

I am enough.

rlb 4.5.17