Where We Lie
Where do I lie?
Perhaps it’s in a duvet made of
all the ripped fabric,
that were once my clothes.
The garments he enjoyed shredding
with his filthy nails like a lion and it's meat.
His pot-stained breath
waltzed off beat with his slurred voice.
The intoxication in his words exit his mouth
as the once beautiful smile shriveled into
a subtle snarl.
His dry and callused fingers on my body,
attempting to heal every scar yet forming
new wounds around it.
He took pride in the darkening bruises patterned
along my arms, thighs, stomach.
They will always be a reminder of the mantra
set in stone.
- I am his, and he is mine.
He lies on a pillow
made from the old yellow sheets,
stained from our fluids and sweat.
The liquids were made from feats
of athletic intimacy,
camouflaged and distorted
with vile, lustful frenzy
and frantic claiming.
I reveled in the sickening, sinking sensation
of my canines attacking the tendon
of his neck.
Pulse skyrocketing with shock.
The little marks, how they aroused me!
- he is mine, and I am his.
Connection can create love
but how could we not be frightened?
How could we love each other gently,
when there are others who covet what belongs to us?
They want to take him away,
take me away.
Rip the planet from the sun.
Impossible but not without precaution.
- I am his and he is mine.
They don't understand, he ruins me
for all others.
His weapons;
kisses he could trademark.
Firm and violent clashes of teeth and tongues.
Heavy pants and mixed saliva.
No matter who desires to touch me,
the memories of his nefariously used
sacred spots,
they throw the others away.
Kill them all.
- he owns me
Those who dare to look upon him,
sense my jealous fury through messages;
all sent to him.
A ding for every doubt,
A ring for every accusation.
Who is she?
Is she prettier? Sexier?
Do you wish to be hers instead?
- I own him
Some days I can’t stare at the sun,
for all I desire is eternal darkness underneath
the ground;
the separation from him
too miserable to bear.
Other times I dream of horned demons
snatching him,
taking him to a place specially made for
great evil
and sadistic souls.
- consumed by love
Yet we both know,
when we die,
we will lie together in the bed we made.
Dragging each other to the floor,
then carrying each other to the bath.
Washing away the pain with soft touches.
Or drowning one another with rough grabs.
- plagued with hate
Our bed, made once from desire
and pure magnetism,
now wet,
from thousands of spilled cocktails.
Ingredients: tears, misunderstanding,
insecurity, animal possession, and obsession.
Disgusting and pitied,
but addictive all the same.
- forever we are one