I bathe in the haze of smoke slipped between teeth and lips,
pushing out words delivered by a voice shaking with the bass
of bomb shells. Not saccharine but honeysuckle sweet. I press
my lips to the base of that flower and inhale every ache that floats
from his lips to mine. I evaporate in these crowded dim lit
bars—moss walls and tobacco tinged lamps—staring dumbly into
hazel eyes.

Sometimes they’re the same dark olive green
as his coat with flecks of red and brass like bars
and stripes. His stories pungent with the metallic
taste of blood, a mouth full of pennies with the crack
of fire right behind your ear. Bite hard to keep it
reeling behind eyelids, hard enough to leave a mark.

His eyes once verdant green
as verdigris, the copper washed
out by the sweat that dripped
off his brow. He grips me as if
I’m already leaving him, as if
he’s already leaving me—
pushes himself back into me.

&I’m afraid to stay.
&I’m afraid to let him go.


written 8 January 2013

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