her story is an old one
even older than the stars that tease her at night
there was a boy with a pack of oreo’s
and the smile of an angel
kisses that tasted of blue curacao
voices vibrating into moans
that ended with trembling flesh and
a kaleidoscope of broken heart-shards
at night the stars are still present
reminding her that one never forgets
the warm caress of certain tears
the fickle promise of forever in one hand
and a gun in the other
the inherent cruelty that comes with
falling in love with a god tattooed on his bones
he’s on the run
from the slip of his own mortality
to the man that made him the monster
the body of a weapon
carved into a human
suckled at the bone
marrowed
deserted
human again
he was in catholic school
red tie, white shirt, black trousers
alabaster skin marbled under the hunt of the sun
flowers grow in his chest
and the sun dawns in his eyes
the man he loves touches him
with long fingers and rough hands
an ethereal heartbreak
he can taste the ambrosia in every kiss
as he tries
to forget his name
he watches the moon at night
with an ache of something undefined
hollowing him from the inside out
he has always been a child of the dark
with hair the colour of ebony
and skin the colour of oak bark
he loves to watch the silver moonlight
write divine symphonies on his collarbone
about a girl dressed in khaki shorts
hidden behind the lens of an old Polaroid camera
he’s an athlete before he’s anything else
a machine that works
on force
and nutrition
and sleep
people call him the muscle
yet at night he loses himself
in Woolfe
and Plath
and Angelou
tracing words in four languages into a notebook
never to be seen by the world
he’s born into the golden age of tragedy
with an inch of blood
on every knuckle
and the rage of a century slumbering
between brittle bones
he holds hands with blazing fingers
and kisses summer-burned skin with
fig-stained lips
fifteen half-smoked cigarettes
and an old broken radio on the windowsill
there’s no bridge in Greece that he hasn’t dreamed
jumping off
jackknife
choking on every breath that slid down his throat
then he wakes up
there’s an old broken radio on the windowsill
and sixteen half-smoked cigarettes
he’s up at 2 a.m.
staring at the ceiling
waiting for the breath of his brother to even out
devoid of any emotions
heart pressed into a cage
soul yearning for release
waiting for the calm to come
for his mind to stop screaming things like
terror
misery
pity -
it doesn’t
sometimes
he’s coughing up grave dirt and stones
mostly when he misses her
then he puts his college jacket on
and wears it like a second skin
like a warning sign
that he’s not the boy he was before
with blistering palms
and reddish earth between his toes
until there was nothing left of him
than gravel and bones
she drinks wine before she goes to bed
coffee when she wakes
the silver slice of a hairclip
reflects the bright sun in the morning
the rouge on her cheeks is as familiar
as the red woollen shirt she wears to sleep
each of her words is woven in the curve
on the tip of her tongue
that tastes like summer stars fading to black
he’s burned in places no fingers ever touched him
on the inside of his eyelids waits the
detailed outline of a body
etched with precision into him
by coal-smudged fingertips
at night he closes his eyes
leaking gold out of the sockets
dreaming of falling
and flying
at once
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germansingergirl
yousharknotpass
andulkaphoto
