Folded

“Am I still your favourite person?”

I asked, eyes wide,

Arms wrapped behind my back like folded

Linen laundry,

Egyptian cotton.

Can you unfold me and

tug at the frayed  edges until we forget they existed,

Kiss me clean.

“Am I still your favourite person?” I ask,

Or just forgotten

dirty

laundry.

Fight for Us

I always thought we’d find our way back together, somehow, sometime, someplace.                                                                                    And we did. But we were older and we had changed.

You had made me cold.

You left. You were always good at walking away.

You did not look back this time.

You should have told me that you wanted to fight.

NIC[ountry]

 

NIC- newly industrialised person

 

And the word boyfriend sounded foreign to me

As if it should be spoken from another girl’s lips.

When I did say it, it was through a gravel mouth

as though I was cursing your half smile and rough hands

that furrowed brow, how everything was a thought process to you. (Love cannot and should not be analysed, databased or calculated).

And as though I had not heard from you in one hundred years,

I Extricated Myself.

Your ice eyes and my tense body

parts

How quickly

something falls together

Is not how quickly it will fall apart.

Distance can drown your lungs as every gasp of air is filled with someone else’s laugh

maNIC

DNA

That water laugh

all light and salt,

Dead-ly.

End-ed.

Monday Mornings

You reminded me of a Monday morning cigarette break

That between awake and asleep

Feeling

Wishing

the day away

With my rolled-up heart

Charred around the edges

 Wishing for white sheets and plump pillows

But lusting for the blackness

That came with your presence.

Your kiss with its darkness

And your charcoal throat

The same warmth

that arrived with a raspy inhalation

of smoke through nose to chest,

My tar lungs and cigarette breath.

Burnt out amber

Of orange and black  

Sparks against pavement

The miniature fireworks

Under my fake Laboutin shoe.

You were my

Narcotic, Insomniac Addiction

Darling, Come Monday morning

I thought of you.

-Tina Rose