we cut open our hearts
as we lie under moon dead
skies and i make you drink
from my manicure you bought
me at that cheap asian-run
nail place; french tips are
in style for those trailer trash
girls and i think it was about
time i began to accept it.
and i wear sports bras
and sweat shorts around you
because i think, maybe, she'll
smell my pheromones like the
werewolf she wishes she was
and under that night sky
i whisper lullabies as old as
time itself, even if they're
half-hearted and some of them
are flat-out lies ((but only
in the best sugar-way, darling)).
my love is twofold once you
begin to undress, only after i
prod and beg for awhile - in
that subtle manner that leaves
you guessing and unsure.
but, baby, from under that sky
we spin on the asphalt and gather
rocks in our hair and the dust
of tar on our flat bellies and
i love my hand in the curve of
your side and the crux of
your curls and i ((unintentionally))
mimic those faces you make and
as i bring you close to insanity, close
to that brink of madness
that devilish edge of forbidden
i hold my breath and hiss,
"you are the only girl i'll ever fuck."
and you know that i mean more
than that, you know i mean the
words i have never said