'you inTrigue me,' he said, with a capital T; and she
said why not I? ..but he smiled (and oh the fences in his smile),
'because there is no i in tease.'
some girls are born cheshire. Girl Contraband cut herself while
running, dug through dead s(k)in with her
double edged razors. bleeding indigo
like dreams of decay and They could never catch
her, had to settle for glimpses in the dark.
she was long legged and loose limbed, skin
s t retch e d and s p l i tt i n g
at the seams. Love Me, she begged, but
the world said no, no, there is not enough.
one more lost little girl and
there is not enough. keep running.
she was PURE she was PURE
but her chopstick fingers had habits;
she took her identity and folded,
f o l
d e d until
she was poor man's origami;
coffee and candlewax and red plastic heels.
her lips were too full to hold secrets
and he was careful not to kiss her for fear
she would burst, spill pulp fiction
down his chin
like pomegranate juice
(which he never liked, anyway).
her favorite word was intravenous:
the invasiveness of it
and the (after)taste
like her name in bathroom stalls. in Tra ven ous
she said, like his wanting her, and he
laughed (that t for tease).