midas’ touch made me….

to me… only me… to me.

How sick to be ashamed or desired.

A pink face scrubbed raw,

a rose so red—it falls for any facade.

Not knowing I like it,

I love it, for the sake of touch.

I surrender.

Laced in a fair of tattoos,

shaved brigade head-

buried deeply in my cut,

self-made

If you love me,

don’t tell it to someone else.

I don’t know what I’m capable of

until I finish

Until the last dawn I wake up named,

until the last coat of varnish is done,

until the latter of two weeks

becomes my answer to the fool

you’ve made me

I hate you.

-

-

Maybe I testified as a witness too soon.

Now they’re all dying to know my new name.

I’m alone, even when you swear I’m yours.

Parchment-paper kisses, a slow crawl

toward the edge—but we never jump.

We rehearse devotion like a scene,

lips meeting, hands hovering,

but never taking the final breath.

Cave in, you say.

Beautiful man with a face like smug poetry,

my hair tangled beneath your chin—

a leash for a love that was never mine.

Take what you want. I’ll let you

Shed your heavy. Bury it.

And when? We’ll make it then.

The anxiety only comes

with the lies I let slip past your lips—

all so I can be perfect

for two strangers in a bed of rubble.

Love me, I say

Don’t you be a fool.

submit… submit… i pray I’ll wake up only for me

One morning…