In my day

you’d have been ugly with that unapologetic grin

repulsive in your honesty

which is why I found you spellbindingly beautiful

the folds of your intolerance against the mediocre

flow smooth in my disturbed mind

I feel young in your surround

making me want to run fast for no reason

catching buses in high heels and blowing kisses

I don’t want to die without touching you

we sing in silence, but in what key is anyone’s guess

maybe we were brought together decades earlier

when you were ugly and I was uglier

in our wish to be more than flat girls in photo albums

when the press of life felt like suffocation

and reaching out of the roar, I saw you climbing trees

there’s something fascinating in the way you hate

convention like a defaced rule book

you break me in little pieces as I stand there pretending

the very run of your hose doesn’t drive me wild

you asked me what my dreams were

I held my painted lips together and didn’t reply

sometimes the answer isn’t the one that can be

sometimes the truth won’t sit pretty

I’ll dance when you ask me next time

you could see it in the way I avert my eyes

ugly in needing what cannot exist

you put a spell in my drink and I didn’t stop chasing

even as you laughed, even as you mocked

the very ardor burning from me

blue light in dark, the color of your chill

winding me into your skin

like barbed wire made of rose thorns

you can eat some flowers I think

but not these, these are poison

guaranteed to stop your heart .

10 Replies to “The color of your chill”

  1. The very run of the hose driving wild — OH, THAT level of desire!, and for it to breed dreams unspeakable … Shot through by the envenomed arrows of Eros for sure.

  2. This is wishes and warnings all beautifully mixed up. Those poison roses are so hard to leave alone… πŸ™‚

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