Divine, this world still holding on. Interruptions from various gods don’t seem to matter, gravity continues to tick along paying us no mind whatsoever. It’s like believing in a teapot. My phone number isn’t very hard to find. The truth is always far too single. My hands open emptily and I can’t taste your eyes on me anymore. My most floral print baggage now is the unshakable belief that the people I like won’t want to see me. I’ll come to their homes and I’ll be rejected, shepherded out of the house and into the rain. I have to remember that that was only one lover. These people won’t leave me to bleed. I can place your hands on my neck and let you. The shimmer in my bones says I trust you. Security confidence, don’t lie to me or yourself.
Blood touches your heart like I want to. Slick salty fingers licking the inside of your flesh. Hands curling together in your hair as if to pray. The words that leave my lips are in whispers, they are in a language everyone knows. You name is here, caught between my teeth and tongue. I said it, just now. Did you hear? Backseat driver taking your hands as mine, my sweetness sinking into you like you forgot you existed as anything else. This bait taken before conscience operated with a guilt scalpel knife.