Kiss

 

That she can’t change for love/And she explains how long she’s waited for/ She wanted more*

I’m sitting on my bed playing a song that is stuck on repeat. I sing it when walking around our city. I sing it when I wait for you and wonder would you like it.

All I can think about is you, and how things have changed since that November night, when you kissed me, and we kept doing it, every chance we got.

Walking to the library I pass the graveyard with the pyramid and I think about the time you pinned me against the black iron railings and my arms were wrapped around you,

and those girls that leaned out of the taxi and cheered at us, while car horns beeped. You quickly turned sheepish and I told you, -Keep kissing me like that and I will want to fuck you!

Our whole saga started just because you kissed my cheek, because I put dark purple lipstick on you, as I always ask -Please can you let me dress you in drag?

You always say no but you let me do it anyway. You left my cheek stained, I wiped it off -If you are going to kiss me, do it properly.

You clutched my face with your hands, doing what I know you wanted to do months ago when you texted me saying -Is it good or bad I wanted to snog your face off all night?!

The lights dimmed and I am sat on your knee, this time I make the first move, my eyes close from instinct and my fingers feel like static electricity, your hand reached up to my neck.

When we leave the bar, I am wearing your scarf, swinging the end around, You take the ends and pull me towards you, it tightens around my throat, my perfume lingers the next day.

You look at me, you want to kiss me, my back against a wall, but you unravel the scarf and wrap it around your neck. I walk away with someone else whose kisses didn’t match yours.

 

*Gerard Way. Hesitant Alien, Drugstore Perfume. L.A.: Warner Bros. Records, 2014. CD.

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Time is Fleeting

‘Why is he always so late?’ Ellie thought as she leaned against the wall, she could see both entrances from where she was standing. She turned the volume up on her iPod.

  People kept glancing at her, she ducked her head, tucked hair strand behind her ear. She walked from her spot to the shop in the station. At least it is something to do. She took one of the bottles from the fridge and purchased it and walked back out. Her spot on the wall still empty.

  Ellie’s phone buzzed, a text from him.

              sorry am late, just woke up. Be there in 20 x

  ‘One day I am going to fucking murder you,’ she said as she texted back her response and shoved it back in her pocket.

  At least she could people watch there are all kinds of people to see in bus stations. She could see the coach stops perfectly, a guy a couple of years older than her had a small bouquet of flowers behind his back. He kept checking his watch, he looked excited.

   At least someone can be on time.’

  People rushed out to collect their bags. When a girl her age stepped out the coach, with a plain black suitcase and came into the station, flower boy smiled. When she looked up she beamed at him, his own smile wider. She rushed forward and he presented her with the flowers, she kissed him on the cheek first before taking them in her hands.

No one has ever bought me flowers in my whole life.’ thought Ellie as she brought her hand to her mouth and gently bit.

  He had yet to appear. The clock on the wall said he would be here in two minutes. She slung her bag around her body and placed her hands on the wall behind her to help hoist herself up.  

  ‘Boo!’ said a guy’s voice in her ear.

  ‘You’re late, again,’ Ellie said as she looked at him, her face set straight.

  ‘I’m not that late, I said I’d be twenty minutes.’ He said before smiling putting his hands on her waist.

  She shook her head before taking her phone out of her pocket, scrolled through the messages and showed him the one she was looking for.

  ‘What time does it say we were meeting?’ She asked.

  ‘Eleven…’ he said, smile dropping from his face.

‘What time is it now?’ She said moving away from him, her arm pointing to the clock.

‘Twelve, I’m sorry Ells Bells, do you forgive me?’ He said as he pulled her toward him and kissed her.

She pulled back slightly smiling. ‘Nope, you owe me.’

He nodded before taking her hand, they walked out of the station. She looked at him and frowned slightly.

‘I shouldn’t have to put up with this.’

Widow’s Nest

In a London penthouse, gazing out of the window at the skyline,

a glass of red in her hand, is her, the recent widow.

She tilts her head, slightly swirling the glass, pouting.

 

Her wedding bands already shifted to her right hand,

her recently departed husband only been in the ground twelve hours.

This has become a routine for her.

 

Husband number three, a young wealthy heir, found dead,

in a hotel room. His widow reported to be inconsolable,

why they had only been married four months.

 

Taken a handful of pill, the police reported his widow,

claimed to the press she was unaware of his mental state,

or how he got the pills, he was always so happy.

 

Husband number two, a different story.

He was an older man, twice her age in fact,

but still so young, was unexpected when he died.

 

A heart attack, the coroner ruled.

The detective on the case, was still unconvinced,

it didn’t seem right when he told the widow, she didn’t even react.

 

Husband number one, was a big story,

he was her first love, they had been together

since they were 18, tragically killed at 24.

 

She had gone out with her friends, he was sat at home,

relaxing alone, drinking a few beers. He was murdered,

a burglary gone wrong, nothing of value stolen.

 

The Widow’s phone chirps. Vibrating on the coffee table.

A dating profile notification, six new matches.

She strolls over and picks it up, starts scrolling through.

 

Doctor, CEO, Lawyer…An actor. She purses her lips.

She starts to type. She puts the phone back into position.

She walks to a cabinet, removes her rings and places with the others.

Just Hello

 

Did you even think of me when you typed that as a title?

Your only consideration of me can only be passed off as small talk,

   Hope you are okay and doing great at uni.

If you really cared you wouldn’t have sent me an email at 8:57 AM. You can think about me but forget it instantly. Like I do with you.

Your one-sided conversation turns back to what you want and how

 I miss our chats

Give up! You don’t miss that, you miss your control. I’m sick of seeing you pop up on my phone, facebook, skype, email etc. You will always want more. An email, a call, facetime, a picture, live masturbation, sex. I know how you work. We’ve done this time and time again.

 

Why don’t you have the gall to say what you really want or that you don’t really love your girlfriend.  Because how can you when behind her back you keep wanting me?

I don’t have a girlfriend

Don’t lie to me, I’m not stupid. I know, I’ve always known.

I’ve let you go and I feel like someone who was struggling underwater, who was falling from the blue to the black. But my instinct kicks in and I swim to the sun to come back up for air.

But your return keeps trying to push me back under.

We should talk Lauren.

Lauren?

Lauren??

Why are you ignoring me????

I can still see the distorted light. When I can feel myself giving up. I have someone who will jump in and pull me back up and take me back on the sand. When I shake from fear, wraps their warm body around me and just tell me they are there,

-It’s okay, I’ve got you.

but in your eyes, you’ve done nothing wrong. In that case take this in, how every time we parted ways after you manipulated me for sex. I curled up on trains, buses, my bed. With wet eyes and red welts on my arms from my own hand, nails dug in waiting for the sting.

You want it really!

Just one last time.

You know you enjoy it, we’re good together.

Come on Kitten, for me.

You can trust me. I am the only one who 100% believes in you.

Needing that pain to be physical became a thing with me. How I ended up taking a craft knife and carved lines into my hips -blood peeking through, like small jewels on a string. Where your hands went when you fucked me.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Nothing now, I have better control over my emotions. But I still have your disgusted face lingering in my head when I tell people, what I am thinking and I apologise for being human.

-You don’t have to say sorry for getting emotional!! Ever!

Don’t come back.  Paddling in the shallows is enough. I can run out, walk away, with someone who cares.

Tension of Rope

Tension of Rope was created as a collage poem from three different unknown sources. It was a university class exercise.

Your arms, as well as the wrists,   bound up savagely

bend and twist in as many ways as you can

Gulp and pant       Stop and start again

 

That tightening is tension   against my chest

Your breathing should be effortless

strokes the skin like a brush       Use a mirror

 

The odd one out   no tension  for its vague uncertainty

Study your own a good deal of it is under the surface

tightening tension is obtained

 

The tapestry   the wrists    your arms  

comfortably supported   undue pressure on the thighs

The future is higher than the present

 

Gestures

He had his hands on her, one on the small of her back, slightly pressing her body into him, the other stroking her brown wavy hair. His fingers slightly dipping into the strands, as his fingers run down. 

    ‘So that’s my life, not too depressing for you, eh?’ he says, looking down at her.

      She raises her head from his chest, letting his hand fall from her hair. Leaning her face towards his, she gently kisses his forehead, casting her eyes down at his. Smiling slightly as she brushes his hair from his face

 You didn’t have to tell me all this now.

Pressing her forehead against his, as if he could receive her thoughts by touch.

Do you trust me?

 ‘You okay?’ he asks.

 She nods.

Whispering into her ear, he says ‘Tell me the first thing that pops into your head.’

 She bites her bottom lip, sits up, and rests her elbows on his chest.

‘Did you know pineapples can technically eat you?’

 ‘What?’ He says, raising an eyebrow.

         ‘The enzymes or whatever in pineapples can dissolve your skin, that’s why after eating them your lips tingle,’ she replies, looking at him seriously, her head slightly tilted.

           ‘Beautiful. Sounds like bullshit, but beautiful,’ he says as he leans in to kiss her, she lets his lips touch hers before pulling away.

      She rests her head back down onto his chest, turning her face from his. Not what you wanted to hear. Squeezing her eyes shut, as he wraps his arms around her once more. I’m sorry.

4am

The first time I snuck out,
I was 20 years old.

You encouraged me,
and I walked to meet you.

You showed you cared,
your own inhaler, passed to me.

We walked through the night,
alone with each other.

We sat in graveyards,
cuddled on the steps of a church.

One hand held a lit cigarette,
the other wrapped around me.

We moved to country lanes,
to muddy pathways, trees overhead.

At 4 am you spun me facing you,
Our lips touched.

It was unexpected but touching.
You’re still impulsive, but there for me.

You made me promise to stay in touch,
To not let another 4 months go by.

When the sun began to rise,
We went our separate ways.

Left to think about what we did.
The advice you gave.

That if I do what makes me happy,
Everything will fall into place.