Monday, July 30, 2012

Untitled


you're a phantom pulse against my fingers. i'm on fire with it (turns
out i know how to burn; my skin can melt, peel, grow red and shiny
hard once more). a bit adrift without you- i'm a compass needle,
you're due north, all that jazz. lay on my back all day until the sun
bleaches out my eyes and imagine clouds painted onto the sky; feel
things i probably shouldn't- like veins expanding, shadows playing,
stars pulsing. filling the empty cavities of space in between. i'm
just playing cardiologist. pretending i can touch hearts; make
something useful of them. but you can't keep alive someone who is
meant to be dead. bedroom-blues into transparent eyes. you don't look
at me, you devour me. i could map the bumps of your teeth all
afternoon, but your chest would still be constricted from dust motes
and the words you wished you'd said. i've shed so much blood in your
name. sometimes i wonder how well you'll be able to remember my face.


if two selfish people can love each other.

i am the empty cavities of space in between. the light steals my edges
away but never quite reaches to where i really am. leaves me waiting
and waiting and waiting and waiting and


--Alyssa Moore

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