poetry
Tell me what it’s like,
to forget someone you’ve loved.
Every time I try,
I just remember better.
As if forgetting is
another way to undress you,
another way to lay you down
and lose myself in you.
“Don’t be gentle,” you begged,
“Use your palms. Be rough.”
I thought, “I can’t.
You’re made of glass
And you’ll break
Under my fingertips.”–
I bit into your flesh
And sucked purple blossoms
Along the canvas of your back
It reminded me of that steam-filled room
When I growled possessively
Into the crook of your neck
I had only touched
I should’ve tasted–
You pulled me into your breast
Cutting off my air supply
And I realized it was my favorite way
You ever rendered me breathless
Your enthusiastic groan
Echoed around your torso
Like a roar in a cave–
My arms shook like breaking glass
And your arms held strong
Like a marble statue
I only touchedFuck, I should’ve tasted.