(Published at The Writers Club)
Esoteric expressions
slip through her red lips,
stripping wrist stitches,
bruising downcast scars,
opening decisive nerves
to her cracked spine,
shattered with the desires
of the flesh, broken inside.
The city my tongue burned
with a belated engagement
melted the callousness
we’d sought to defeat.
Our vain hearts lusted
for us tangled in
bedsheets.
The horizon integrates
the rage of an orange array
that fades to shadows,
slipping beneath us as we collapse,
into the arms of the other.
A beaming grin washed over her face.
I’ll hold on to the ring for another day,
for a day when things aren’t as perfect
as they are this autumn day.
If you can’t love me at my worst,
you won’t enjoy the best of me.
(© 2022 AC)
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