Rituals

I think there was something in your sex that put color in my dreams.

Now, late at night, I can feel your rough skin against my cheek. The weight of your body pressed against mine. I bite the apple of your shoulder and can taste it on my tongue.

You poisoned yourself so you could teach me things about my body and things about yours.

Rituals that can only be learned in sleep.

b.

red prints decorate me
the way face paint can do
the prints even change colors
they slowly turn blue

blueprints hug me
too tight i can't breathe
they even turn yellow
it chokes my belief

the yellow prints are fading
i choose to forget
i don't look in the mirror
it's too early yet

it will start all over
but for now i am free
of the blooming colors
i can't seem to flee

red prints decorate me
the way face paint can do
the prints even change colors
they slowly turn blue

p.

i trekked across the desert

and swam through foreign seas

to get away from You

and be alone with me

but the further that i ran

the clearer i could see

that You were going nowhere

that You were still with me

every crevice that i found

wasn't dark enough to hide

the lies i put in front of me

the truth i put aside

and You came knocking on

the facades i put between

You promised me a love

i no longer could believe

so i bit the hand that fed me

and then recoiled from the blow

that i believed was coming

but instead You let me go 

p.

The Invisible Field

This is where I wish I could go

When I want to get lost.

A field that looks like an ocean

Covered in fog.

But hidden beneath the cool damp blanket

Lies a sea of sand and grass.

He said, when I ran into the field,

My body collapsed into the air

Like a tiny implosion.

When I turned around,

He was gone too.

Staring straight at the spot where he stood before

I saw nothing but a pixilated white sheet.

We both knelt down.

Me, into crunchy sea grass

Him, on the sandy shore.

We crouched below the layer of clouds,

Huddled near the ground.

We looked into each other’s eyes

And then leapt up

To let the damp air hit our faces.

I came back to the invisible field the next night.

Holding the hand of a boy,

I was sure would follow me

Into the wet gray night.

But the field was gone,

And as I turned so was he.

b.

The Evolution of Touch

When our knees knock together

I know.

These bruises are proof,

The natural manifestation

Of what we share.

Every arm graze, shoulder touch,

A sign.

He knows.

I know.

Eventually these inadvertent touches

Will evolve,

From cellular soup,

Into walking talking fish.

Who will leave the sea

Ready for something new.

Not knowing what comes next.

A new limb, an extra fin, to undress you

From your scales.

To pour water on your gills

As you adjust to the air.

It will happen slow,

But when it does

We will know.

b.