november-flower

curled over a porcelain mouth, i let my dinner fall out. it's 9:33 p.m. and i think about saturday, when rain hit the pavement like firecrackers, the sky darker than the shadows behind the shower curtain.        i know there's a spider burrowed between those plastic folds. funny thing about deep spaces; they feel better when they're stuffed full. i think about how your fingertips made my skin feel soft and breakable, how your tongue was warm, about how my legs wouldn't stop shaking and you laughed, whispering, "you okay?"        well, there's this experience known as an aftershock. hands clutching cold tile,

curled over a porcelain mouth, i let my dinner fall out. it's 9:33 p.m. and i think about saturday, when rain hit the pavement like firecrackers, the sky darker than the shadows behind the shower curtain.        i know there's a spider burrowed between those plastic folds. funny thing about deep spaces; they feel better when they're stuffed full. i think about how your fingertips made my skin feel soft and breakable, how your tongue was warm, about how my legs wouldn't stop shaking and you laughed, whispering, "you okay?"        well, there's this experience known as an aftershock. hands clutching cold tile,

your rose petal tinted blood from the grave crystallized into my pulsing red heart rosebud sickness I have begun to crave such organs on strings strung may fall apart epiphanies pressed between thin pages dried skeleton stems without their past dew knit themselves into our numb rib cages our sighs become eternally askew bite into bitter buds of sweet disease floral sugar bliss encountering veins masked hate with false pretenses to appease soon your soft shell will be all that remains changeling, your body will rest in peace sweet exchange for your infinite desease