I Waited

Mind playing with thoughts of strength

The suitcase beneath me scratching gravel

Blue lace panties slightly hang out

I search for that blue in the shadow

Where’s that shadow you promised me

Where’s the sound of tires on gravel

Where’s your laugh and crooked smile

Where’s the last warm embrace

The sky rumbles, drops water on my shoulder

Daddy yells out the window we’ve gotta go

I pull my seat and throw it in the trunk

The hinge clicks and I hold my quiet sobs

I make excuses and she holds me like you should

Choking out, “maybe he got busy” and she hushes me

My head falling on her shoulder and wetting her hair

Mind playing with thoughts of strength; I waited

Heavy Glow

There was hair on your pretty chin

Your face looked like mine...touch

Held me close, your baby girl

Whisper of "I love you"...much

There was light in the sky in April

A heavy glow in your hair...brown

Your eyes illustrate love in a twinge

A heavy fall of your lips...down

There was strawberry shake on your hand

Your pink cheeks held the sun...giggle

Bouncing curls in my face, on my lips

A tiny wet kiss on my nose...wiggle

There was a warmth in your hands

Holding me close to your body...sigh

My name made pleasant upon my cheek

The warm hand falls on my face...cry

There was a smile on soft lips

A laugh completely goofy...sweet

His touch gentle in a sultry way

Come on baby, feel it...heat

Heavy glow in brown eyes...I am loved

Heavy glow in your hair...my love

Heavy glow on your cheek...my baby

Heavy glow in your hands...my rock

Heavy glow in your laugh...maybe?

Separated By A Comma

She knew he wasn't cowboy hats and Wrangler ass

He was from the desert hot, breathing deathly dry

Lassoing white collar dollars into a blue collar wallet

Herding sunshine and hot pavement into an October wind

The only thing that would make it cool

Arizona he was

He knew she wasn’t Dior perfume and hairspray curls

Her skin fell winter snow, chilled to a pale perfection

She wore two books a day on her nose to make ends meet

Collecting dew covered dandelions by the armfuls to breathe

The only thing that would grant a wish

Tennessee she was

She knew he was a hot mess half the time or better

Intuition ticking too fast to tell the time, but keeping her heart in hours

Reading the bold face type like a crystal bowling ball…..strike after strike

Hoping like hell he is in time to diffuse any confusion

For want of attention he climbed mountains mining diamonds and gold

Emotional he was

He knew she was ten shades of pathetic, an art

Heart beating steadfast to the sound of beauty in word form

Putting out feelers for any space in his emotional cover

Counting in hundreds the amount of problems of loving him

For jumping cliffs and swimming oceans wasn't enough to love him

Pathetic she was

Her pen greased with the blood of a young heart pumping old soul thoughts

Flowed smoothly and lucidly in loops and lines, a beautiful hand

Spelling her wants and desires in spreading pools, concentric circles

Ripples that never die but grow into tsunamis of emotion

Showing others what it is like to feel, address, express, deeply

A writer she was

His words out stood her beauty by a thousand times, black script perfection

Like it or not, you were going to feel, magnified to the Nth degree

He can write you cold, hot, beautiful or ugly; you are his toy as his muse

If you didn’t crave him at the start, you would by the perfectly written ending

Tongue craving his wit and naughtiness, heart keeping time with the sweet words

A genius he was

Die With Me

I gave you bastards light

I fed the greedy tongues of your bastard children

Lips made my being raw

I fed your greedy bastard tongues with light

I gave you bastards warmth

I held the stoney hearts of your cold children

Dim made my ever-glow

I held your stoney hearts in my warmth

I gave you bastards life

I breathed air into the empty lungs of your young

Dead made my open heart

I breathed air into the empty lives of you bastards

Human-Absent Beauty

Time is golden; silence a fake
Breathe again, I love the sound.
Birds laugh at human-absent beauty
Tick-tock, and the people search

Time is golden; your neck delicious.
Second hand burns half-open eyes
Birds gawk at the sounds of love
Tick-tock, and the people cry

Time is golden; clocks fall flat
Splintered wood dig my spine
Birds crave lovers’ passion
Tick-tock, and the people ascend

Time is golden; lock your eyes
Fingers pull lips in split seconds
Birds warn tear-stained bodies
Tick-tock, and the people know

Click.

Afraid of a simple feeling, or even a touch
A zip, and who I am will fall out
A raging mess, dressed up in a skirt and a pretty face
Aching for love, to change it to verb-form
For you, or you, or you with the eyes

Afraid of your pitiful knowledge of he and I
Assuring me with a kiss you know everything to be known
Pretty porcelain lips clicking porcelain floor tiles
Aching beneath fucked up stilettos, mine retired
Hiding till morning light, to accompany a disguise

Hot, Mess; Hot, Mess; bitch heels clicking
Filthy, Whore; Filthy, Whore; as clear as I'm speaking

Shell.

I have told you time and time again you are a piece of shit.
And meant it, too, my love; meant it in every single way.
From the way you stand to the way you fall by a simple touch;
Down to your crippled knees and your oh so beautiful face.

I have told you time and time again you are nothing to me.
And meant it too, my love; meant it in the harsh tone it was said.
Telling myself I will one day break you at the core, leave you nothing.
And yet I build you up piece by piece from your wide bottom.

I have told you time and time again that I love you.
And meant it, too, my love; meant it in every single way.
Leaving pieces of you, nothing substantial, leave you in water.
But still I love the broken shell drowning in the ocean.

that eight-sided no.

stop looking at me;
this is not who i am.
      what you've heard is not what is true, my dear.
i will not give my hungry eyes to you.

stop touching me;
this is not who i am.
      what you're feeling is more fear than pleasure.
i will not enjoy you and the way you speak.

stop fucking me;
this is not who i am.
      what you're hearing is not real moans.
i will not let you take my love for him.

stop looking at me;
this is not who i was.
      what you're looking at belongs to him.
i will not stop and look again.

All The Flowers

You’re all so unfair, glittering life..
I surround myself in all those damn flowers
A few to wrap myself and you in,
A few to add life to once gorgeous hair.

Oh my Lord, what a beauty
Such a damn shame on his arm
Damn her, that little cutie
Lingering on the lips of many

And I know that I should go, you too..
Your little toes linger in my mind;
I swear I can feel them through me.
The little bit of life I still have

Oh my Lord, bless her little heart
Such a damn shame all alone
But damn, that baby will be art
Momma used to be pretty

The fire in my heart burns on this cigarette
The one I’m about to place on your head
Burn you as I was burned by your father
You don’t even cry as your life flickers, too.

Oh my Lord, she’s a fucking murderer
Such a pretty shame as she burns herself
Damn her, God won’t dare forgive her
No one dares look through the flowers

Namesake.

Don't let that halo get you, honey;

She'll tear you a new one night after night.

A body from the Heavens, but a soul from every Hell,

Though you make her an angel in your mind.

They call her Piccadilly Lilly, the woman they all want.

With eyes like stones, but sensual stones, you see.

The curl of her body like circles, entwined;

And that flesh so milky even babies would cry for her.

And yes, she'll offer you that drink in her hand,

But nothing more, not without working for it.

She'll spin circles around you after you pop up like she wants,

But she won't come down without good reason.

They call her Piccadilly Lilly, the angel of sexual favors.

Granted you can get one out of her, something more than a tease.

She'll bounce those lovely breasts, the golden curls;

As you salivate, hoping she'll bounce on you as well.

Don't let those red lips get you down, they'll die too.

When her perfect body weathers into normalcy, don't cry.

She's a vision, a vision of every demon you never saw.

They call her Piccadilly Lilly, but you can just call her Bitch.

Forever&Always

Morning, glory
God knows I love you or I wouldn’t sit here
In this damn snow breathing your scent prematurely
Waiting on your arrival, late as usual; expected.

Morning, glory
I still see your brown eyes like when they looked down on me.
Moving in ways too old for us, too mature.
But that was the best damn football game I ever met.

Morning, glory
Where the fuck have you been sleeping tonight?
My guess is you lost your clothes, as did your pretty fuck.
Did you think of my body instead as you sweetly ruined hers?

Afternoon, glory
You’re three hours past late, as am I by three weeks.
Too young to do this, too young to be just like her.
Your radiant brown skin, but God, I pray, not your eyes.

Morning, glory
Surely you’ll think of me in that drunken slumber,
Overslept and long past forgotten once more.
Goodbye, Corey.

face-first

you used to make me feel at home,

now i feel as though i can't touch your perfect display.

i promise i won't touch a damn thing,

just had to sneak my heart back onto your shelf.

so i could watch your face fall one more time.

but you should be used to seeing me cry.

Breakfast Club

I remember breakfast mornings with you.
Half-offering food as you make my bed like the perfect gentleman.
Singing me morning lullabies in your sultry Southern voice,
Faking sick to avoid our lives beyond each other.
Until sunset put you to sleep,
Hand in the popcorn I’d made you.
Your snoring putting me to sleep like the movies.

But now my empty bed gives me nightmares,
And I find it hard to sleep in silence.
You’re not in your shirt, but neither am I.
And I’m making breakfast for one.

In Case Of Emergency

I must have left my game face in my other pants pocket
Making excuses as you pull the sorrow from every tear crossing my lips
As I find myself unable to breathe with you that damn close
Mouth sending you off, eyes begging you to come closer gently

You become my personal clown, pulling every color from the sky
Harvesting them for you grand finale, sworn to make me laugh
Getting closer to me, laying upon my shoulder made for you
Gaining another tear with each one of your breaths

I wait silently for you to break the glass with your emergency hammer
Watching the familiar ways you move, counting the beats
And as you lie holding me close, asking if I'm alright
I wonder if the gun in my mouth told you yes or no.

This Old Stoop

I watched him being born, hours old, on this stoop
Unto gray concrete and nothing but a name he could give himself
The bluest eyes you ever did see and lips crying for love’s touch
Swathed in an old dishrag, waiting on a bell’s return

I watched him rip his baby knees open on this stoop
Playing hopscotch with his best friend no one could see
Talking in baby circles and charming old women as they passed
Blue eyes swelling their old hearts as they ruffled his hair

I watched him fall breathless countless nights upon this stoop
Run ragged from his work no one dared ever question
Taking a swig of liquor and a puff of smoke before ascending his steps
Telling his secrets to quiet walls as everyone slept beside him

I watched him collect her heart and broken eggs on this stoop
In that three-piece he worked so hard for, and tomorrow’s, too
She smiled as she saw him, just good enough for a woman like her
Or maybe her smile for the billfold protruding from his otherwise empty pocket

I saw a giant Tiffany’s ring gain a purpose on this stoop
As her tears hit the concrete before she gave an excited cry to agree
And he took that beautiful girl in his arms for patient kisses
The first of many this old archway would bear witness to

I watched his favorite three-piece suit die on this stoop
Collecting years of dust and old eggs as he curled up, crying
Penniless, wifeless, and homeless, back to my stoop
Showing me those blue eyes as they broke into tiny pieces

I saw him look for love in all the wrong ways on this stoop
Grabbing the asses of passersby, yelling obscenities
Dissatisfied with even those who didn’t seem to mind the touch
Beating his head on green walls as he drinks it all away

I watched my love die one night upon this old stoop
He blew his forty-one year old brains out in the night
Painting his loving walls and splattering his empty bottles
So lovely and broken in his favorite three-piece suit

I watched them paint his stoop a sea foam green
You can still see crimson if you look hard enough
With a golden “41” placed delicately above the door
Welcoming another beautiful tragedy into it’s open arms

Blue Bar Moonlight

Your face looks lovely framed in blue bar light,
Drunk as it may be.
With the hue of the mood you usually wear
Tainting the steadiness of your brown eyes,
And the wrinkles in your favorite shirt.
And I realize it’s my favorite shirt, too, on you.
But you’re waiting for a train,
A train that promised you that far away place
The outskirts of town the edges of warm arms,
And the moon shines, but brown,
Simply because I can’t stop watching you,
Wishing I could hold you by more than just your edges.

Can You See Me Now?

One; wake me when.
He picks himself up from the floor at the sound of thunder,
Wiping eyes black as death wearing a three week crust.
His tiny hands stroking the gun that killed his beautiful mother.
A rape baby, still a good baby, too good for this.

Two; march me on.
Baby stumbles barefoot ahead of the cock in his back.
Rights are rights, but not like this, says he, just six years old.
As he's goaded, ever-fearing innocence stolen like he's seen.
Marching one-two, ready to kill at a pervert's command.

Three; lay me down.
"Horror," baby cries with his eyes, left without a single voice.
The gun in his tiny arms breaking his ribs in recoil,
As he inadvertently breaks those of his best friends from school
Just a block away for play, too close for blood-hungry men.

Four; march me on.
His little eyes glued to the belt of breasts his violator wears,
Swinging to and fro, thumping his knees and his boots,
Sliced harshly for wear; offering them as a hilarious snack
Trophies to the men who rape regardless of age or gender.

Five; lay me down.
Baby cries into the dirt cradling his tiny face lovingly
As something completely loveless works hard into his backside.
Bleeding where no boy need bleed without want, barrel in the face
Fear and desire pouring out of the bullet hole in his sweet little head.

not so deep.

"It couldn't possibly."
               But it can, love.
I can take your hand as often as I like.
Hands meant to be taken...but not so deep as I'd like.
And I can take your face, too.
Memory is shit, but your face, it has.
"It couldn't possibly."
                But it does, love.
And maybe that's all you were.
A daddy face and daddy hands.

Water Play.

Her thoughts lightly tread water, out to there…there, where he was.
Urging her feet with gentle, baby-like hands, only to fail as before.
Playing childhood games with her friends Hope and Shame;
A daily dose of Ring-Around-The-Rosie like rotten cough syrup.

Drink up, child, there’s no time to waste;
You’re needed in the west, no time to play.
Swallow your guts, check your pride at the door;
You live the luxurious life of a whore.

Her hands played in the water, down to there…there, where she longed to be.
The little faces of souls a plenty begging her to lay with them, to play.
Screeching of past lives, before the rocks tied their supple ankles
When they were kissed instead, and got ten dollars an hour

Drink up, child, Tommy’s going to come.
You’re needed on your knees, where you started from.
Drink what you’re given and don’t you spit;
He’s in your hair, and you look like shit.

Her eyes cast across the water, to there…there, where he fucked her.
He had the money, but not for her ugly face so covered in love for him.
But Hope and Shame held her hands through it all, watching him move.
Stroking the matted hair they held as she emptied her stomach in his pond.

Drink up, child, and suck it slow.
The more you do, the more you know;
The more you know, the more you make,
And pray your soul the Lord soon takes.

Her body laid atop the water, out to there…there, where he stood watching.
As her tattered, dirty dress did sink low; face washed of her good friends.
Those little souls grabbing her by her loose ass, dragging her down, down, down.
Grinning at his eyes that suddenly found her beauty, found a way to care.

Drink up, child, the water is your Hope,
Your disgusting body doesn’t dare float.
Stripped of the ugly label you once bore.
The world stripped of one more whore.

Hearts To Stone

Don’t even say it…
Because then, it would be true
And I would love you…
And you would love you too.
And hearts would fall to stone,
And stone to ash like grays
Like the ones mixing into your beard

Pose.

Let the flash steal your soul, just there in your bright eyes.
The mirror in front of you degrading you, knowing you.
Every piece of who you are, every tiny critique on film.
Every word or sound you let slip, caught on his tongue.

Pixilated degradation tainting your every thought skillfully.
The thoughts of those you choose to love later, seen in their mind.
Knowing, hating, trying to cope with what, not who, you are.
‘Who’ got stolen in a fretful glance at your body that is not theirs.

Explain yourself away in your sea of lies, unchanging with tide.
Practiced, perfected, posed; fishing them lifeless when needed.
Placing them on a lover’s lips, pulling away from your filth.
Let the flash steal your soul, in the hands of another man.

Fickle.

I dropped you at the dimly lighted bus stop beneath the lamplight
Dropped your hand from my hand, that is, not my heart.
You took a seat on that bright green bench….knees to your chest.
As if some sort of comfort could come to me from seeing you ageless.

Ageless, but older than you truly are in soul;
Your face looked just your age against your hard knees.
Resting your stubbly chin on your forearm….absolutely precious.
As if some sort of comfort would come to me seeing you careless.

Careless, like the wind cradling my crying face with it’s tiny hands.
Whispering that I can’t cry while you can still see my face.
But you won’t turn; I know you well enough for that….looking.
As if some sort of comfort will come in seeing the bus on the horizon.

Horizon betraying my eyes as I see that metal thief coming toward you.
Eager to pick you up and whisk you away from a meaningless whore.
Your eyes flicker like an adulterer to your manner of escape….flawed.
As if some sort of comfort will come from those boring into my skin.

Skin set on fire by rain, by a broken streetlamp the betrayed me.
Watching you press your hot cheek to a frozen window.
Hoping like hell you’ll cry, or at least let your lip falter….softly.
As if my heart will mend itself seeing some form of emotion from you.

Creosote Rain

Waking up, tongue coated in a thick layer of desert sand, wind breathing hot and dry in my face. My face, seemingly glued to the bed of hot sand it must have slept upon. My heart thudding in my chest, ears, and eyes at the inevitable darkness about to blanket them as every previous opening had. I inhale the creosote scented haze of rain, hanging like a theater curtain across the wasteland. My eyes peel themselves apart, breaking the crust holding the corners together. Light! I blink and blink, sure that I must be dreaming. But as the rapid flutter of my eyes ceases, I see them. Two bright, glorious lights, white and blinking beyond the mountains.

Desolation

In the desolate land in front of me, pieces of decaying beauty lay strewn about beneath my feet, and on for what seems like endless steps away from what used to be. I smell the dusty wood of a broken home as I feel it's every crack and crevice with curious toes. The beauty of this relic almost tangible, taking all the wasted spaces in my mind as I envision what could have been. Touching imaginary curtains; envisioning a child of no more than three clinging to her mother's skirt, begging for an apple from the kitchen counter bathing in morning light. Falling to pieces in a matter of minutes with last kisses, decaying alone, bit by bit, like a long-forgotten dream. Southern belle accents crumbling with the whitewashed walls that knew it all, as windows of pretty faces shatter. An isolated incident, no one with any recollection of what may have been.

Swell.

“The ocean is so heavy,” I said against the stubble of your jaw.
I remember I said it, do you remember that it was said?
As your hand passed over my forehead a third time, your assurance.
I loved the tide as I loved your perfect hands I would never twice see.

“But it never quits,” tide after tide, low or high, it loves.
Carrying a voice, a voice from lips that softly stroked your ear.
Eyes that looked up to a stony face, with too many months of wear.
I loved that face as I loved the tide, pushing on my fragile heart.

“It loves you,” I whispered across the tear moistening my lips
Aiding the blue in it’s words left unspoken, caressing the shore.
You swallowed hard against my cheek, silencing my praises.
I loved your motions as I loved the waves’ swells, perfection.

“It loves you, heavy and restless, with every lovely swell."
I remember you said it, do you remember that it was said?
Words weighted with salty brine, tainted in your lovely eyes.
You loved me as the oceans loves a ship wreck in it’s belly.

Baby Girl

he sat plainly next to me.

            "spill it."

but he knew, and he knew

i knew he knew.

his eyes swam through mine,

grimacing at detail,

holding back chuckles at naivety

and he knew, and he knew

i knew he knew

shaking his head, dashing smile

as shoes stole away from me

on helpless knees

             "grow the fuck up."

more than me.

Hold me till I die
If only in
Poisoned memories
Regardless of your hands

Ellipsis

Of dreams, of presence, of lucid memory
Cupped into virile palms, waiting to stain a lover's lips
Of pause, of breath, of emotion
Taken thrice into a Pandora's Box heart

Of forget, of regret, of exhaustion
Taken greedily in deeper, deeper...down
Of life, of love, of existence
Of I love you's and I don't's.

Wonderland

He did his best to teach her to dance
In gaudy, garish, naked light
A trip to Wonderland with him;
His fingers, face.
Such things as tenderness caressing pouting lips
Plump and pink-

                Roses.

                You beg me to call them pretty for you.
                As the shores of dreams usher them into my arms

Hands given to hope, to love in the guise of youth
To Wonderland, to home, to heart's true home
Teaching me to dance
In naked light; on hideous roses

The Good Wife

Harden

That very heart in your chest, so sweetly soft
Send them in to build the mortar wall you’ll need
Send them in to flush your cheeks, stealing blush
Wipe the girlish glow from your eager pupils

Work

Him into a trance, so not to notice your pain
As he glides his way across you, on top of you
Grinning his sheepish grin, filling custom and want
Your loins to the brink of retire to accept yourself

Pick

Yourself out of bed, not three minutes out of birth
Feed their harsh mouths and get fed their depreciation
Giving your bosom to the new mouth as expected
Pick up their dishes to wash in between slave and sex deeds

Wipe

The blood trickling down your leg and out your dress
Not a tear from the eye of a hardened woman, nor man
The mouth of another borne unto him from your shaking legs
The mess of yourself from the floor and your once lovely bed

Feel

The fire in your throat down to your lurching stomach
His words slapping you twice on each side of the face
The ugliness of your face and the weight of your body
Sagging with children and work for the man who does not love

Cry

As he steals the only things you had left in your bosom
Given to his new whore, a symbol of who he can be
Into his land, watering it with the tears he hates on you
For the first time as he laughs with a cold heart in your face

Grow

Weaker as years pass without a glance in your direction
You are, after all, just a useless, ugly slave for them
Thin as your sickness eats itself and your body inside out
Without a sound to the man who shows you no emotion

Die

In your bed where your bore him sons many years ago
Where you loved him countless times with all of yourself
With him there, staring into your eyes with love for a whore
With your soul and all you’ve worked for in his grasp

Go And Get Him, Then

A mind was made to have a man;
Friends plucked by thieving fingers one by one.
He’ll be none the wiser to his loyal men,
Not so loyal with blood at the tip of their nose.

Go and get him, then
You know where he resides
Go and get him, Red
Have him by his sides

And Red dragged him; no friends in this place
Sinister plans give rough sounds at the backs of throats.
Touch him light to keep the mystery not yet here,
Soon enough, friends, our way will be had with him.

Hold him tight, then
Point his face to mine
Hold him tight, men
He has yet to resign

A flash of light in his knowing eyes, about to break.
The knife from his shirt his final fight.
Disheartened at the fall of his hand in the eyes of friends,
Grinning lustily and their intent to clutch hard a life.

Stab his back, then
Let his crimson blood fall
Stab his back, men
Let Crazy Horse stain the wall

Allman Hill

Allman Hill


Part 1: Caught

Norah

The wind envelops me in the scent of your beard and sweet breath, the air that resides in the curve of  your thumb.  Those beautiful hazel eyes peer at my naked flesh from the trees as the branches above remind me how you touch. I shut my eyes, letting my senses take you in in our place. You’re almost here if I shut them. And I know you almost wish you were.
I return to this old room before they even know I’ve gone. This room, so brown and plain. No decoration, no thought or feeling. Old before its time, much like me and the other people here. Maybe that’s why I feel so close to it; because we are the same. A grunt interrupts my thought. Clothes half-on, I whip around to find Andy, hand in his tented pants and eyes glued between chin and belly. I’m frantic to cover up as his hand flies back and into the door frame.
“M- Sh- I mean. Dr. Rae wants to see you now.”  He barely makes it through his stutter before I’m dressed; his eyes down at the floor and looking near tears. Yeah, I’m embarrassed too, pal.
I make my way over to him, moping. He steps aside to let me out the door then falls into step beside me, as he always does. He doesn’t care that everyone stares at us while he stares at me. Poor Andy. He’s the kind of guy you’d like if he weren’t such a perv. Nineteen. Deep blue eyes; ashen hair with a dashing smile. He’s tall, too tall, and definitely built. And sweet as pudding. Probably why he’s a doctor’s lackey here; that and he’s the doctor’s son. That has to help. We round the corner and all I can think is “poor Andy”, though I’m sure he’s thinking “poor Norah.” But I have a plan to change that.
“Please, sit,” Dr. Rae gestures to the seat directly in front of hers. She says there’s healing in closeness. Not sure I believe it.
“Ah, Norah,” she sighs. “My good girl. Where were you this morning, my dear? I was supposed to see you at nine o’ clock.”
Crap. I knew she’d ask…bathroom? Period trouble? Sure, play the girl card.
“The bathroom….that time again….” my, the ceiling is riveting today…
“Uh-huh. Just like last week then?” she waits for another lie, thinking I can’t deliver. But I can- halfheartedly, at least.
“They’re real long for me.” No good.
“Norah.” It takes a minute to answer as I float around her son’s deep blue eyes, placed nicely right below her eyebrows.
“….mmmm?”
“You left again and we both know it. Everyone knows it. You aren’t exactly sneaky, you know. Were you alone this time?” Damn it. Why do I even try to lie to this woman? Let’s try again.
“Completely.”
“Why do you even try to lie to me?” Damn her and her crafty little mind. A shrug will work.
“No good in this game Norah. Who were you with?” She’s pissed now, and her lie-dar is definitely going. No time for more lies or sarcasm.
“Christian.” She takes note of that for the first time in a long time, and I take note of her blatant  disapproval.
“And this time?”
“He tried…he wasn’t really there. I asked him to come, but he gave himself only to my senses. I smelled him; felt him. Saw his beautiful eyes. But he wouldn’t love me today. Couldn’t. He had somewhere to be. It was important, I know that. But he gave all he could. He always does. Maybe tomorrow he’ll have time….he’s--”  I shut my mouth and taste my tears, both of us realizing this is the most I’ve ever spoken to her- or anyone here- at one time.
“Busy man.”
“Lovely man,” I choke. There’s a knock that forces the doctor to the door, leaving me to carry out the first half of my plan. I grab a Post-It and a pen and replace it by the time she’s done at the door.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to stop here today.” I leap up, practically smacking my head on the doorknob in my escape efforts, halted by a hand on my wrist.
“Norah,” her blue eyes tap into my soul and for the first time, I’m afraid of her. “Stay with us, love.”

~~~~~

Andy

“I’m afraid we’ll have to stop here.” Norah leaps as I shut my crack in the door, nearly smacking her head into the knob. Oops. I huddle up to the wall to act as though I wasn’t even here prior to now.
“--here, love.”  The door swings open and there she is. A great, big, beautiful girl. Pale; lovely. With black eyes and brown hair. She’s a screaming beauty. Tiny, fidgety. Her silence interrupts me, as usual. My Norah never speaks to me; why would she? I can’t even speak to her. Just smile; make her half-smile. But never really speak to her. So why can he?
“H- here.” She hands me a crumpled, pink Post-It note, avoiding my eyes. Then she’s in her room, away from me. But her voice! She’d given me a word. Not mother, me. And one was magnificently enough. But there were more in my hand. Heart thumping, I read her tiny print.

When you finish with your mother,
come see me.
    -N.

Fuck me sideways, I must be in it deep. She’s never actually wanted me to come see her. I knew earlier was bad, I knew it! But I didn’t have it in me to stop, and now my love hated me. I would fix it later… mother first.
“Andy,” she breathes, seeing me in her doorway. The knob clicks behind me like a wet tongue.

~~~~~

Norah

How could I? How could I possibly follow through on what I had written on that paper? Who wrote that note? Not me…not my heart. Just my hand.
“Food!” Sneaky little shits have got to quit doing that to me! “I even brought you a little pudding,” Ken whispers, while winking and pulling it from his sleeve. A magician with an exit to match. But boy, he knows the way to a fat girl’s heart. But where was Andy? Am I truly so repulsive that my note held no appeal? Maybe it was one of the famously long “discuss the rest of us” meetings, or maybe it was Andy’s turn to talk. But either way, he’d be staring at a tray right now, just like me and everyone else, only with one difference. I was waiting to take off, and he was waiting to come.
Food choked down, I make my way into my personal bathroom. I take off my pants…my top. Let the undergarments slip to the floor, with shaking fingers taking my jaw with them. No! This was all wrong! Where was my body? No scars; supple breasts. A flat stomach with legs up to there. I had it just earlier, why was I now this instead? Post-It’s are mean little bastards. No way I could let this be seen twice. Poor Andy saw it once already.

~~~~~

Andy

I hurry down the hallway, buttoning my shirt in the wrong holes, re-buttoning again. That took much too long. Much too distracted, caught up in what might happen to me around this corner. Would she yell? Surely not my little Norah.
I jiggle her knob, already knowing she’s locked it. Earlier this afternoon was a rare thing, and it would never happen again after my lovely performance.
I crack the door to soft cries, moonlight bouncing off of Norah’s face.
Her blackened eyes hollow my stomach. “I-I’m sorry I’m…” her sheet slips and I gulp, “late.” I give her my best apologetic look and she pats the bed between her thighs. I walk slowly to take a seat and the edge, far from where she requested I go. She sighs lightly.
“I’m sorry, Norah. I know you probably want to yell. You’re probably repulsed by me. But I couldn’t help myself when I saw you like that. But please know that I am so very sorry,” I end with a cracking voice and let my eyes fall from hers. She doesn’t speak to me, just holds her gaze. “I wouldn’t forgive me either. It was…I don’t really have a word for it. Repulsive is probably as good a word as any. It’s alright to hate me.” I say almost too quietly, waiting for her to answer me. I push my knees with my hands and turn away from my Norah, taking one step before her delicate hand clasps my wrist. One hand on her sheet, the other falling to the hem of my shirt. She pulls it gently up and over my head with ease, dropping it and my sanity to the floor.
“Nor-” her finger presses my lips and steals the rest of her name. She drops to her knees in front of me and wraps her hands to the backs of my thighs, resting her hot cheek on my belly. I place my hands gently in her dark, soft curls.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. Minutes pass of her muttering those words over and over while she cries. Her hands release my legs and she rises, handing me my shirt. I take it as my cue and slither out her door. Whatever just happened was beautiful, and my mind clutches tight that moment as I drift to sleep.

Part 2: Learning

Andy

It’s been two days since my night with Norah, both of them without her. I haven’t been her escort; Ken escorts the ladies on the weekends. While I’ve cherished my night, I wonder if she’s also given Ken one to cherish. But now I walk to her door, ready for my short walk with her.

~~~~~

Norah

How could I have been so weak? To speak to him, cry in front of him…to touch him. My cheek still feels him. And somehow my days with Ken feel wrong now. He speaks to me, tries to break my carefully crafted shell. But his eyes are too green…too uncaring. He drops me at my door and I will spend my time with Christian until sunrise.

A knock! Andy! It has to be…why is he knocking? There isn’t much of a point to that anymore that I can see. His slightly crooked nose pokes through my door with a gruff morning voice.
“Morning sunshine.” He’s unusually cheery, especially for it being so early by his standards. “Ready for girl talk?” He smiles one of his rare smiles that means he is genuinely happy. I want to talk to him. Ask him about his weekend…why he’s so happy. But I have no voice. We fall into step, but I fall farther from him than usual so  as no one around will wonder about us.
His face falls at the sight. “Norah?” I look at him to make sure he knows I will listen. “You look beautiful today,” he says attempting a smile. No, I most certainly do not. What’s his plan here? But as I see Dr. Rae’s slender form in her door I realize that’s a thought for later.
She glares in my direction, then Andy’s. “Andy,” she nods. Andy looks scared for once, and so does everyone passing by.
“Mother,” he has his eyes locked somewhere beyond her, never on her. “I’ll be back for her, on the hour.” She pulls my arm roughly and shuts the door in his face. Family spat I suppose.
“How was your weekend?” she asks, and for the first time she sounds very uncaring. But the thought of my weekend makes me smile.
“Good,” I say, and she raises an eyebrow that makes me realize I should have at least attempted the lie.
“And how’s Christian?” Fuck.
“Him. As usual.” I never should have said so much last time. She expects it now, waiting for the whole story. “He was there,” I sigh.
“How there?” she asks impatiently. She’s asking if he flaked on me without truly asking, and she’s irritating me. But I spill my guts, setting the record for how long I’ve talked at a straight twenty-six minutes.
“He came to me this time. You should’ve seen him, Rae, striding over that hill. Hair flipping with the wind, eyes hidden with glasses darkened by the sweet smelling sunshine. Our place is magnificent, I couldn’t believe my eyes when he showed it to me the first time.
I ran through the tall grass, letting it whip me in my knees and thighs. And I collided with him; he picked me up and let me wrap my legs around his. He kissed my neck and I inhaled the clean scent of his. Then I looked at him as I always do, savoring him in case it will be my last time. He looked somehow older this time in his face and posture.
“Acceptable?” he asked, holding out his arms and grinning. He dropped gracefully into the grass- my God, Rae, you should see him- and patted his stomach for my head. He ran his hands in my hair; kissed each of my fingers while he talked. He spoke of work, family, weather and writing. We laughed; God, we laughed. Seems like I went on forever that day. Laughing and talking endlessly,” I smile at her and wipe my tears. “He had to shut me up with kisses,” and I can’t help but chuckle. “Can you believe that? Me. His lips are….goddamn those lips. But when it came time to go, he went right back over our hill with a light brush on my cheek. No goodbye. Never a goodbye, because that would mean it’s over, or so he says.” And it was over. And even Rae cried.

~~~~~

Andy

Shit! Norah was so broken. I could hear her and my mother cry as she told her she could stop now, that it was enough. It was a beautifully messed up story, and more messed up than even Norah thought.
The passersby stare at me as I wait for my love, thinking it odd what I am doing for her. Norah’s tear-streaked face appears in my eyes, followed by my mother’s.
She smiles, “We’re done, dear, take her back.” Norah begins to walk and mother grabs me by my collar and puts her teeth to my ear. “And then get your ass back here.”
I shuffle up to Norah, rubbing my ear and collar in disgust. “Sorry, always in trouble,” I say with half of a chuckle in my voice. She’s more fidgety than usual, grabbing her hair and chewing on her plump bottom lip. I brush her hand with mine and whisper “you alright, honey?”
And her hand doesn’t shy from mine as she whispers, “will you come tonight?” With a gulp I nod my head to confirm, afraid for others to hear. But the hallway is half-empty at this time of night. I kiss her hand and she goes into her room as I creep back to Mother as slowly as possible.
When I knock she answers in a provocative tone, “Come in, pretty boy.” I open the door to her spread put on her desk, shirt unbuttoned to show her large breasts popping out of her too small bra. She grins and spreads her legs. No panties. So difficult to look at. I’m so sorry Norah.
Her finger bends slowly back and forth to her face with her red glossy lips showing her teeth.
“Hurry, baby boy, and lock the door.” I click the lock and strip off my shirt to leave only jeans. I walk to her desk and she sits up, letting her breasts fall out of the unbuttoned white blouse and her lacy bra to my feet.
Leaning back onto her hands she breathes, “touch them,” and I follow her instructions, rubbing and tugging at her nipples. She growls at me, “Use your mouth.” And I do. Tongue, lips and teeth working her body into a shaking mess. She pushes me back and pulls my pants down to reveal the V shape right before the good stuff. She kisses me from belly button to V as I rub her back. She moans softly, pulling my head in between her legs.
“Do it, sweetheart, and do it right.” And somehow I do, like so many times before for this bitch. She has her fill and pushes me out of her, pulling my pants to my knees. She’s writhing and whining, making me sick all over my body.
She plays with me to try and get her fill of why I am here, and I couldn’t be more ashamed when I shoot up like a rocket for my own mother.
“In, in, in, baby doll, in!” she cries. I have the urge to vomit and my skin crawls as always when I give her what she wants. She’s nearly high enough now, and God help me, so am I.

~~~~~

Norah

It’s been sunset already and I’m still waiting for Andy. He heard me in with Dr. Rae earlier, he always does. And tonight I intend to show him our hill. I can’t explain why he’s deserving, but Christian could should I ask, I knew that much. He knew more of me than I ever did. I wiggle from my clothes so that I am ready to leave. My door cracks and Andy is here. He stares at me plainly as if I had a heavy winter coat on, void of emotion or any sexual rush this time. I’ve no time to wonder why before he begins to speak.

Part 3: Broken

Norah

“Sorry,” he says as his eyes creep up and down my body while I notice he reeks of sex. “I got held up. Suppose I’m always late.” He looks shattered; detached. Cold. “Andy, I-” his eyes roll back and he sighs at his name. “Are you alright?”  He sighs and holds as if pondering the answer, then shakes his head. Emotion brimming, I grab him and kiss his lips. He folds and kisses me softly until I pull back,
“I want to show you something,” I say, pressing him with my breasts. “Will you leave with me? Just for a bit, babe…” I’ve got him. I can fix him.

~~~~~

Andy

She’s got her breasts placed on my belly and it confuses me into incoherency. “C- wah- dar…fuck.” I push her off of me to collect my thoughts.
“We’re not allowed to leave, sweetie.” Saying this makes her lips puff out and steal my breath.
“Andy, I do it a lot. Please?”  And when I look into her black eyes, I see something that scares me to death. They’re glossy and odd, and I realize exactly what she means when I recall Mother calling those her “Christian eyes.” She’s already gone. My breath catches. “Okay, love.” She undresses me while she explains why it’s necessary to do so and stares into my eyes like she’s memorizing my features for the very last time.
“Ready?” she’s smiling. I have never seen my angel crack a full smile, and my heart flips in my chest at the sight.
“Ready,” I tell her in my shaking voice. She takes my hand and pulls me out the window, only walking about a few feet before she stops and turns to me. She stretches out her arms like she’s ready to give the universe a hug. “Isn’t it the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen?” She inhales as deeply as she can, then plops into the grass on her back with her beautiful eyes closed. She opens them with tears resting at their bases and says “Come here, Andy.” I go and lay down beside her, keeping my eyes on the building next to my left arm. She curls herself up onto my chest like a big cat and sighs contentedly at where she must have gone. The happiest person in the world.
“He won’t come tonight. I asked him if he would come to meet you, but he said he couldn’t bear the thought. He’s beautiful, you know. Couldn’t be cuter when his face is scruffy from a few days without a shave.” I feel her smile on my chest, and something wells inside me with the need to confess it all to her. Confess everything to the craziest person I have ever met, and the love of my life. “I love you, Norah. Always have. But you need to know something about me….”
“I love you, too, Andy.” But something in her voice falters, and she doesn’t look at me until I pull her face to mine. Her tears fall down in silent streaks, and I have to ask, forgetting to tell her I just fucked my mother. “Who do you love more, Norah?” Her pause is enough.
“I don’t know. I’ve loved him what seems like my whole life, and you for the year I’ve spent here. I don’t know which is more, or which matters, but I know that I do love you.” Her eyes are still for Christian, and her voice sleepy. She rolls over and makes love to me, love that actually matters. I can tell her what matters. I can tell her. And as I hold her in my arms, I do. “This love matters, babe. This one that you feel around your body. My arms are real, and my arms matter. My lips on your forehead matter. Me telling you I love you with all that I am, matters. Past is past. For both of us. And what we don‘t know is what we don‘t have to know, love. But I love you, Norah.” She says nothing, and I once again pull her face to mine. Her eyes are no longer Christian. Her eyes are dead.

The Room At The End Of The Hall

Soft knock on a broken door; the metal numbers clink to the floor, one by one.
Her voice breaks like her baby blues, surveying the carpeted walls and floral patterns.

    She sits without a sound, hands fall into my lap and she cries,
    Lips trembling out words she prays her God doesn’t hear.
    “He’d frown,” she says, knowing she’s in love with a man,
    A man also in love with a man; her baby blues shattered and torn.

His eyes take in the open door; the tears she left on my shirt like those on his cheek.
Footsteps drag with reluctance to speak, the bed groans beneath his weighted heart.

    Bruises pop in my eyes, waiting to hear why he hurt him this time.
    Minutes spent proving this man’s love for him, hiding the scars,
    “He only does this with the drugs,” he confesses, almost too quietly.
    Minutes spent in my mind, knowing this man’s love for others.

His shadow darkens the door, falling on my face working to be hard as stone for them,
Piercing the silence with his eyes and nothing to say but how he loved her so perfectly.

    Loved her blond hair, radiant in the fall from his fingers to her skin.
    How her bright eyes could soften his hard jaw, take his lips into hers.
    “Things just don’t work out,” his toughest whisper lets me know it all
    His shaking hand moves from mine; “don’t touch me like her.”

Hear his back hit the door, his voice coming from the other side in broken syllables.
He can’t come in, can’t give himself to another woman this way without her

    We lay on two sides of a door as I listen to him breathe, not speak
    Hands pounding the places where mine lay like catcher’s mitts for his.
    “I never did anything but love her,” he cries to the whole world, letting me hear.
    Footsteps making their way back down the hall, back to her arms.

My hands straighten the bedspread where they cried, his hand falling onto my side.
Fluffing pillows without a glance in his direction, I knew his footsteps much too well.

    He spins me around with nothing but a finger, hazel eyes scared.
    Measuring the way my lips quivers as I struggle against tears for him
    “I don’t know why I am here,” he says, and I realize I don’t know either.
    Frozen by the way his eyes touch mine, the way his skin takes mine in.

Hair stuck to my face in the lines where tears streaked pale cheeks, betraying me.
My arms wrapped around myself, hugging my own waist the way I wish he always could.

    He pats the bed next to his leg, causing me to fall into him, bed ruined.
    He tells me he knows of my nightmares, can see that I don’t sleep.
    “You know I love you,” hanging around his ears to wait for an answer
    As his arms curl around my legs, breaking the silence with my tears on his chest.

Cafe Heart

There's cracks in the sidewalk
Traced with bare toes; winter's day.
I listen to the hum of passing cars that aren't you
Sipping coffee after a movie, like you said.
But I didn't drive your car,
Didn't hide you and feed you Skittle-covered pizza;
I am alone.

That face like mine in the window still waits for you.
Watching cars pass in the reflection, just in case, or so I say.
Sipping coffee, writing you into my thoughts,
Childish thoughts.
But you love me because I make you smile,
Love in a way.

Cold toes on sidewalk cracks,
And I wonder if you're smiling.

Apricot Bruises

Apricot-colored powder, choking down the Tylenol
Invisible fingers on a makeup covered throat.
The blades thwack in my ears, drying my hair
His horror-ridden eyes glued to my neck in the mirror.

It doesn't hurt; "I don't understand."

Turtlenecks in summertime, skin tone sepia.
Heavy eyes on heavy bruises as they all wonder
His thumb strokes mine to remind me of him,
Making it that much worse to wear my scratchy noose

He didn't mean it; "I'm sorry."

Slip to our old room silent, telling them not to look
He touches his bruises tenderly, his and his alone.
His clothes on mine in messy piles on the floor,
Lips back and forth on mine like slipping ice

I can handle it; "I love you."

Apricot-colored powder on his gorgeous, crying lips.
The blades thwack in my ears, drying our sweat
Tears round my lip as it quivers on his bare chest,
His fingerprints throb at the veins of my neck.

I can't handle it; "I don‘t understand."

Crying like only a woman should, holding his hands on my hips
Leaving sheets in his cradled arms meant for me to fall back to.
My fingers float to my neck, afraid for him to touch me there
Crying because I lied like a damn rug, flat and meaningless

He didn’t mean it; “I’m sorry.”

To lose my life in those hands could be a frightening heaven.
Hand weighing the doorknob, desperately avoiding those eyes.
Longing to stop the quiver of his lip, losing it’s virility,
The door clicks hard behind me hearing his tears hit hardwood

I can’t handle it; “I love you.”

Dearly Beloved

"Pin up those pretty little lips," whispered soft in my ear
Tie them tight with thread woven from loving strings of word
Let me take those pathetic hands who tremble slowly
What of stories losing hope when we have such loving bodies

And I sat, making love to your pools of green
As you found beauty in negative spaces between
But you don't know how this making love goes
Head falling away; fingers at the buttons of clothes

"The more you shake, the more you give away," warning
Arms taken round, above your head for a moment's rest
Back down my arms come your hands to quiet thighs in your lap
My shaking a disruption to your quiet, still mind

And I sat, searching black for your flecks of gold
Taking command and doing what I am told
But you broke promises and threw them to my feet
And not once did you let my lips and yours meet

"Oh, my love, don't spill those pretty guts," a laugh on my chest
Stomach filling, a home for such broken butterflies
Hope you taste the fear in the sweat between my breasts
What of feelings when we have such ravenous bodies

And I cried, making love to your pools of green
As you took the beauty from negative spaces between
Because you couldn't make love without the touch
My love for you became a quick, simple fuck

The Ripper

Winter tastes dusty; the sky looks of your eyes

Blue, so painfully fucking blue

The cold so awakening; lips chilled remembering yours

You, so painfully fucking you

Walls talk in voices immune to a whisper

Three cheers for the hollow chest

Malicious picture show in my mind

Show just how he kisses best

Jaw as hard as stone toward the face you numbered

Loving things from one to four

Eyes of winter working to chill my bones

Killing feelings that make you more

Winter smells like you; the sky looks of your eyes

Blue, so painfully fucking blue

The cold taking care to numb my fragile heart

You, so painfully fucking you

Glimmer Like The Dead

His naked skin the glimmer in my dead eyes
Green concentric circles burning holes in my chest
The breath from my throat hooked bright round his finger
Eyes falling just short of his plump, pink lips

See what I see

Heart beat pounding at my untrained ears
A lovely match to the curve of his rough jaw
Taking in breaths too fast to keep the pace
Ragged against the tense skin of my neck

Hear what I hear

Fingers tight in the tangles of falling hair
X marks the spot on my shivering spine
Hips accustomed to the way his move
Pinch my quivering lip between hard teeth

Feel what I feel

Heart jumping straight from the hole in my chest
Lacking the words to regain the breath stolen
Looking not to keep his green eyes from mine
Fingers of his hand playing at the holes in my chest

Love what I love

Since We're Lying

Pretty pocket liner to cradle those pennies for your thoughts
A cent for your sin; a penny for your pleasures
Write them sweetly with your tongue on mine, metallic taste
My fingers in that pretty pocket of yours to make a deposit

The change in your pocket not enough for your heart
Pump metallic, loveless
The metal I have gifted you not enough for the words
Whisper quickly, dishonest

Pretty pillow to lay those lips of yours I so love
A cushion for your kiss; a base for your bite
Taste them afterward, salty like my skin
Left shiny with the sweat from your tongue and lips

The pillow on your lips not enough to keep them soft
Kiss me, roughly
The cushioned bite not enough to earn it sweetly
Tell me, mean it

The rich do not love the fainthearted
"I don't love you, honey."
The cold do not love the colder still
"I don't love you either, my dear."

....since we're lying.

Beg

I am your fading embers of yesterday’s love

Watching the curtains dance on today’s blue wind

I give your love one last look before the chill

The sun will not rise if we

Beg

Light not to tamper with your still features

The sepia tones cup your face in five o’ clock shadow

Rough lips I still taste clearly on my skin

The time passed by without

Me

Knowing your plans for when light touches your eyes

Moving the hair from my neck with the lips I taste

A kiss, and you will move to the way you came before

I will lay here so long as you want me

To

Stay and watch the curve of your spine fade

Seeing my eyes, but with no clear meaning to yours

My love touches my skin to glow bright orange flames

Seeing my eyes, with no clear meaning but

Love

If Apples Are For Shooting...

So excited, dear God, look at that body
Gun in hand shakes, sliding in the sweat
Hips in light swing, making holes in his
So hungry, this window has me getting off

Teeth catch her lip; I beg him to bite hard
Her moan has my eyes meeting the back of my head
Her sweat has my gun glued on her apple shaped ass
Hand greedy on her breasts; I beg him to squeeze

So angry, teeth grind and tears fall on cheeks
That bitch with creamy thighs, dripping quietly
That bastard with wet lips, kissing her perfection
So wired, trigger pulled halfway, just as ready as me

Head between her thighs; I beg him to stay put
Her body sets off both guns I’m holding, clumsy
Her back falls to the bed, his eyes glassy staring at her
Fingers on neighboring curtains; I beg him not to tell

I'm Not Dave

This office is really very lame. Those stupid, falsely peppy fish staring at everyone. Supposed to make us all happier. Then there’s the non-art lining the walls, just so they can hit you with a Rorschach test before you even enter Hell’s Den.
“Evening, lovey,” whispers the old man across from me, staring at me staring at the non-art, choosing freaky bug as my result. I catch his eyes and smile, like usual. My Dave. We meet at every appointment; I think the receptionist plans it that way, because every time Dave and I exchange hellos, she winks and offers a quiet room with a laugh.
Probably pushing eighty, Dave was still handsome, but with broken eyes. After sixty years of working for the railroads, he retired to take his wife to Italy on the pension checks. Dave had had quite a bit of wine, and his wife never left the highway. He still blamed himself.
But I’m not Dave, my shit is together, ducks in one happy waddling row. But here I am, every Sunday, getting asked how I feel about “that” and filling up on more useless pills. Just because my boss finds me a little “off”. raven head pops out the door, extended clip-board arm asking me into Hells’ Den. It’s going to be one long, expensive night. One last apologetic glance at Dave and I’m shut in.
“You know the drill, chickee,” she coos, lowering herself to a cross-legged position. Bitch calls me chickee just to see if I can handle it. I have names too…..
I sit same as her, right in front of her, knees touching cause she’s all about being close. Just read the “NO BOUNDARIES” plaque on her desk. Wonder if she’s ever even sat there…..
“How are we feeling, chickee?” with a smile big as Texas. Doesn’t that hurt? I so hate this “we” shit, and she knows it. I don’t think she can help herself. Returning the smile half-assedly, my sarcasm oozes as I say “just peachy”. Scribble number one. I hate the scribbling.
“How depressed are we today? Is it a shirt day honey?” with another one of her damn smiles. She pulls my shirt over my head, evaluating. She touches the cuts on my breasts and around my navel “Well,” out with a heavy sigh, “these are new.”
“Relatively,” is all I say. I’m used to it, just another drill. She pulls my shirt back over my head like a helpless five year old.
“Are we taking our pills lately?” I swear silently to slap the next damn smile.
“I don’t know about you, chickee, but I quit drugs when they quit me.” oh, my chickee hit hard. Scribble-frown.
“Honey, I worry. Are we--you sleeping yet?” and I pause.
“A bit. More than usual.”
“How much is that, dear?”
“About an hour on average. All together. Nightly. Much better than none.”
Scribble-tear wipe. “And what’s keeping you up lately?” I can’t look at her or she’ll know. I stare at the non-art.
“So the same dream….” sigh-scribble. “Any changes, or same exactly?”
I’m tired and I join her sighing disease. “Every detail remains the same, save the voice. We’ve been over this a million times.”
“Let him go, chickee. I know you love him, but he’s the root to every problem. The insomnia, the cutting; all of it dear. Delete the number. Forget the voice. He’s nameless. Erase the laugh. It will fix it all. You can’t just remain on medication forever and continue with him. Honestly, I’m running out of new drugs. He’s not yours. Every aspect of your love for him is wrong. Let go, dear,” she says, taking my hand. I remove my hand calmly, and reply.
“Let go of your husband.” she’s completely stunned, and I’m loving it. Nothing like that first-time-feeling.
“You heard me. Let go of your husband. Let go of the only man you’ve ever loved. The man who’s made you the better person you are today. Who’s opened your heart to everything he is; everything the world is. To everything you are and everything you could be. Delete the number. Forget the face. He’s nameless. Erase the laugh. Let go, dear.” By this time, my thunder speech has become incoherent sobbing. She smiles, hands me a new prescription.
“Love him.” She gives me a teary smile, and for the first time, I notice how pretty she is.
The door opens and Dave has tissues.
“Let me take those, babe,” his thumb wiping my old tears. I swat his hand away with a smile.
“Get your own, old man.”

I Think You Love Me

Your face is rimmed in sunlight and auburn hair

Pink lips revealing a smile to take on the stars

Your hand dripping water, wanting mine gently

My eyes fall back on the river stones not to see

Your skin is reflecting the orange moonlight in my eyes

Sleeping eyes; black feathered lashes resting on your cheeks

Your hand resting hard on my thigh, making me feel

My eyes close and head roll back to bite my tongue

Your voice is dripping honey on my quivering lips

Tongue pressing your teeth as you whisper you want me

Your hand on my face, thumb caressing my chin to calm

My eyes water, head falls weary on your chest to refuse