I lace my fingers together
like twin pink oceans; floating?
am I? rotted on your curved tongue
like barnacles.

I dreamt last night that you kissed
me with a mouth full of seashells -

you were bursting,
on fire,
like a wind; licking
at my swollen eyes.

We are bejeweled are we not?
Born knowing all of the things we
need to know, before it's taught out of us,
beaten out of us,
before we drown in

I am blessed they say! But,
people say a lot of things.

And I think about a retraction,
a rewrite .... into the silence
of situation, and corollary. I would
never change my actions, just the
reactions that scolded me. The faces
who's kisses have molded me. The traces
of faint letters and words that have
folded me. inside. something.

Do I have a name?
I think - I don't know!
but with my socks hiked up to my knees I
must be girly. My black lace bra must make me
womanly. But youth sours my tongue
like gothic revelations.

I read: The Marquis De Sade,
and you joke: The Marquos Facade!
No man can live like that! But a woman?
A girl? With her words like wounds,
and her scars like screams - even though
she never says a word.

But I hunt the silence.
I kiss it.
Make love to it.
And murder it.
Surrender it.

Silence - so lovely, so moody.
I dream about Athena (demure, with her pack of dogs)
dancing along the row of car crashes
that mar my mind; pink corsets laced
with childish hands, when
as a girl I awoke as a woman
with blood on my legs.

Lacing my hands together like
twin pink oceans - in prayer - in love -
to hold you
with these same hands;
un-blushed, and unabashed:

or am I Artemis,
virginal and nude
laughing at the things that I don't understand?

Laughing at the fear I feel
in tempting fate to forsake me again.

Again - I want to slash that word:
GAIN A (emptiness)
IN A (something) beyond my eyes;
beyond my understanding.

Beyond mercy - so I dance
and I drink
and I fuck,

and I tell men that I am not the person that they see before them,
I am not that thing - but a clever actress
who steals the show hourly
to have you fooled.

I tell them that I am older, or younger,
give a name that means more to them
then it ever did to me. Let them figure it out
or follow quickly. Let them. Do. Something.
To. Break. The. Spell.

Like, kiss and tell.

I tell them that they have no idea,
but they don't believe me.
I look at them expecting them to dissect me -
I'm waiting for someone to throw themselves
at me, yelling: 'yes, I see it now. You never had me
fooled. I can see through you like glass...'
cut glass. shattered. broken. a ruin burning herself
to the ground, and cackling.

that I
shouldn't have
but I
want to take
it back -

And men ask me if I write for the money
and again I laugh.

They ask me if I remember just to get attention.
If I couple with my pain as a companion because
it's all I can be sure of? And I leave. Spill my drink.
Rip my dress. Break my heel. Sleep it off. Roam
the world ever-still hunting.

But the rain cleanses me, reminds me, is kind to me
and I cup my fingers like twin pink oceans
and drink as though flesh were a desert consuming me.
These boarders. Narrow alleyways. Crevices, and corners.

I part my lips, thirsting.