i am a beautiful and fucking ugly thing
so live. create. kill.
stared at the trees and wondered why they bow,
seem so heavy with blossoms never meant to open
and reminds me too much of breasts
I wish were creamy as her half-crescent face
lips puckered like a half-attempted smile working
too well into the ruins of my thighs.
she ruined karma for me
as we played chicken in the streets
wagering my heart against her sex and it was all the same, then.
instead, i wrote about her hair,
came out as a soft gasp in the warm Indiana
air as it shown on her eyes.
it was the soundlessness of her voice
that amounted to the structures of her heart
pivoting us each into our own sighs like rain
and when we fell it was into puddles
unnamed and lost.
