Undertow

Derailed, crestfallen
character; It is
unbelievable (at best)

how I capsized when
fact flooded the banks.
I glared at myself, guilty.

Dissolution

His insecurities manifested themselves leisurely, with lies emerging one by one like bloated bodies in the Mississippi. Each individual spoonful he lifted to my lips tasted most bitter, yet bite sized and always served with an alibi shooter. Nourished on deceit, I did not notice how thin I had become. Compromise. The slivers of a once perfect self shaved and contoured to compliment another person. Edges rounded, curves adjusted. Microscopic pieces so slowly eroded away that I could not recognize my own skeleton at the end of the day, piled there at his feet.

But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you.

David Levithan, The Lover's Dictionary

Know Your Role

The truth is that he simply didn't like the way our names looked together on the outside of an envelope. 

Mr. and Dr. S. B.

It is the reason he drank whiskey from the bottle while I was at work.

It is the reason he flipped coffee tables at 2 am and apologized in the afternoon.

It is the reason he threw Christmas gifts at me one by one and then begged me to open them. 

It is the reason he growled into my subconscious after dark. You are a dirty bitch.

But for a moment, I believed him.

La Dolce Vita

slick city streets slide through the glass
cateye sluggish squint slimming the haze of midnight
highway daubed with drifting design
my mouth is slippery in drink
declarations dubiously tethered between my ears
emancipate themselves, cascading through my parted lips
spilling into the dashboard
wretched hands folded inconsequential
unworthy of any ceremonious change
i will never be enough
for you
for anyone

liquid lull of resignation and windshield wipers
eschewing the plea
forehead against the window
i close my eyes
dissipating into la dolce vita

Tiny Elephant

Explicit bits of conversation weave in and out, moth-eaten in the fabric of us. Casual mentions of things to come - hiking in Cusco, grazing horses through the kitchen window, sunning on the Marbella coast, entrepreneurial wine bars...

Let go.
Just breathe.
Live now.

Dreamy paradigms prove difficult to live by when flirting with the future feels a little like lying. A deeply grooved proboscis wraps around my heart and tightens its grip when I insinuate someday. Ashed gray uncertainty deftly tugs me backwards when I slip.

Sans plans for the subsequent, what's the point?
The sex is good.
At what price am I lying to myself?

He wants to stay. Born and raised. And hell - we all know what I think of the snow.

Will I break his heart, too?

Oh, Hush now. We have weekend plans.