chesscakes

It surprises me, these details I remember It surprises me afresh, each time my wayward brain, it captures and it wasn’t P. D. James I meant it was Deaver, J, instead. I’d pickled you, I say each time to those memories forsook I’d pickled you, I’d smoked you dry and yet these references I took along the paths I’ve blotted out along the roads I’ve wiped it surprises me, these details those laid turgid in my mind.

It isn't that I want to break their hearts; nor meant, intended even, dreamt I could - but something, lodged within me, lisped alive in wanting need, this frantic need to want venturing love might scorch myself to try. This decade gone, I've felt my body distance from self and mind, in intimacy wreaked: this decade gone, I've savagely disclaimed it thinking in absenting, I might revive - but why? Lying supine; design retired smoke-ridden, sloppy spirit mouthed my turgid phlegm sucked clean before a kiss - my voice a husk, my syllables drip blurry what you covet, imagined out of this? - nightly, my angry lungs wheeze thinner and nightly, I

It was violent: the way she sucked steps dry, pock-marked her suction bedraggled so! - as we, her limpid sluts gorged on her greedy tides these unending too, and thus upended and I am small, but swollen on her banks swung outside her grasp slung lusty, birth-bare nude, flung in her arms I always dreamt of drowning instead I shyly teeter by her she; and her violence but I wear bruises well and from her, through her my lips, blue rosebuds swell I am and violet tinted, I cry out flush pinkly pained in loss she heaves me free for violence, she's the hardest thing to claim.

a. cat-scratched blind; I cede my waned moon lenses lost prone upon his floor I think, besides my senses. b. I painted hair sky blue, bleached life from it: I died yet find my redhead mother watching from my mirrors I stare her down, but I blink first I thirst for her: deny. c. Then fright, is he behind, is he inside is he, will he define me? I see her; find him in her and know (not) what to do. d. sit lonely now, spark matches, sulphur sweet - and hope I am as strong as people claim. Do I know who you think I am, do you? for I recognise her less than any else and still avoid my mirrors. e. I lose myself with you, is this allure?

wake, or come to: you: sat, your drapes shun sunrise - my languorous doll, my Peter Pan Lolita tell me, cigarette whisper me - tell me, do, and then confide: how can you bear to DJ wearing pants that fucking tight? Escapist equipage: torn silver skins; vagrant potions; stray powders halo you safe as circled salt as bleary as your creamy lipstick your lipless voice; rimless eyes that, in eclipse, swallow themselves - like these routine nights we forget, blacked out; wake sulking on our wrong sides as our spines lock eyes blindly - and now you're twice my age for just a single month but who've you got to boast to? You tell me, slurring

There are holes in our language we speak careless, not free and rape our thoughts through ska-like expression; except all I can hear are the gaps between our words my life is lived on drugs so why can I not know myself? and I ache the morning after and think of those lips that speak cleaner, and more succinct than even my imaginings than teeth nipping at my lips like a goldfish suckling on noisy air.

 - and then I was adrift and I found that there was, there was nothing and I was in - - I was, just was eye of storm; was loneliness with naught to latch - - catch on to, was alone, grasping and no tense makes sense and, stutter, how am I when I am not? I am pinprick and then there was - - was nothing, there. I found that there was nothing and even stars were no more bright than me. And then I was. And there. And then. Eyes, eye; in the - - there and then, as pendulum.