i am a beautiful and fucking ugly thing

yellow evenings;

I am not sure what to say anymore that hasn’t already left me.
Or if my mouth has resurrected itself from slumber or
if the ghosts of my footsteps have been heard.

for every part of me, you have dug your hands deep into my veins,
garbled bits of alien tongue that dispatches the turbulent seas and
wonders if the woman in me will rise, with the stroking of thighs.

from soft moans and bare sounds and god knows what else
waits for the rueful hums to subside
with the angry, jealous curses            to this fucking man
and the secrets kept from me will come back,

and I am not sure what to say anymore that hasn’t already left me.