It was dead and they were soft. I plucked them. And in-between my thumb and pointer it felt like the thinnest, most delicate sheep’s ear. As I let it go it glided in the wind, a wing without its body still able to fly.
You told me I was like hot honey poured down your throat, you said my pain had the power to lock eyes and you told me I possessed a sickly sweetness. And now as I pour my hot honey down the throats of others I’m amazed that a sweetness could have brewed inside of me, and even if it is…
She watched him play with a thread in-between his fingers, twirling and twirling. As she stared she couldn’t tell if it was him spinning the thread, or the thread spinning him. She imagined the loose sweater thread unraveling and twisting up his arm, back on to him. And who else would be able to tell the sweater was actually wearing him?
You melted at my feet, a pool of thick goop hugging the edges of my souls. Do you expect me to scoop you up? Did you want to become my mess? And I can smell you all over me, like lingering smoke. You melted at my feet, I dipped my finger in you, consumed you, and left you.
You made me feel real and with your skin pressed tightly against mine, there was no questioning, I knew I was there. And as I run my hands along my own flesh, I’m left wondering why it doesn’t feel the same. Left wondering if it is you that makes me feel real, or me that makes me feel unreal?
I am the black speck of pepper lost in your mouth, you didn’t even know I was there until you bit down on me