avhertz

I like the sound of your name, though I cannot say it. You like the sound of my teeth chattering in the night because it means I need your warm body next to mine. There is a vacancy and a space for breathing that I cannot let go A time and a place for your long blanket of hair, And your laugh that brings the sound of rain and sweat inside my bedroom. The clatter of construction follows you here Wakes me, heavy lidded, skin sticky, throat dry. The suffocating smell of smoking metal and hot cement seeps through the cracks of the closed window by our heads And I realize That there is a time and a place and a price for comfort.

I never intended to be your conquest. You exploited my weakness tapped into my spirituality my connection to the earth. (you covered your face in my juices) Once again I lay myself bare, insides gaping out of precious incisions why i cut myself for you watching with a sense of satisfaction (I should have known from your sincerity) It was a test: of my will and your power

The softness of your chest invites my prying fingers to turn the fleshy parts of your skin into my domain As I connect the moles on your back In my mind I create a path that supercedes all others beloved and incinerates longing. You turn towards me but do not give the freckles on my nose- nor the scars on my arms- similar treatment. When I returned from the mass of your unwashed hair, I wrote a play in my head (Seven acts, to be exact.) I obsessively recalled: the silences (comfortable) moments of emptiness inhabited and overtaken and false conversations outlining a future forgotten. In act three there were glimpses of vulnera