YOUR NAME feels heavy when I speak it,
does my name feel hot when you write it?
HEAVY, dark fun, Goliath?
my hands no longer feel like hands they
reach for your neck paralyzed with
DISCLOSURE OF THE BRUTAL, UNADULTERATED
restorative pain EXPOSURE, EXPOSURE
you are not even here to grab and shake
i see it all over your pores, the sweat.
it tastes sweet, almost, does it?
BODIES are no longer necessary
(as we are no longer anything)
like bundles of shreds and fibers
steadily growing louder, louder as our SOULS (THE UNDERTAKERS)
become the verve, the wisp of physical frissons
WE ARE RICH, YOU’VE MADE ME SICK
i think he makes me, like, sick
until the screaming subsides i am sick girl
THAT’S WHAT THEY TELL ME TO PROTECT ME FROM WHAT I WANT
IT IS YOU, YOU, YOU, I MISS YOU, MY TONGUE SCRAPES MY MOUTH
TRYING TO TONGUE YOUR NAME INTO MY MOUTH CAN YOU FIX ME FIX ME
i close my eyes and hear the music we listened to, once
i don’t know where i’ve been and its been difficult without you
these are simple words that are exhaled through the dragging of
a TURKISH GOLD
I miss you
Goliath, i think we’ve shared the shadows but
when my thoughts encircle you i think of BIRDS OF PARADISE
where are you now? am i still your sisterlove?
Caravaggio, Salome with the Head of John the Baptist, c. 1609, oil on canvas, 116 cm x 140 cm, Palacio Real de Madrid