Animal Instinct

Every boy who has
kissed me first
has also left me.
And maybe that says something about
me,
how my mouth is bear trap,
whereas ankles are normally trapped
my lips work as snare,
confine others’ because
it’s the only way I know how to beg,
it’s the only way I can convey “stay”.

So,
I want but
never ask first.
One never does when the question leads
to abandonment;
why even bother the claws to break skin?

When you don’t have a chance of holding
what’s meant to leave you.
When mouths meeting are a different kind of speaking,
a “goodbye” tasted, instead of said.

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Aquatic Therapy

I am drowning

in the current of you

that is over-taking my bloodstream.

I am flushing you

out of my system;

no one said it would be easy.

I am

being hit

with each wave of memory,

I don’t realize how bad they crash until

I know someone is not you by the way they are sitting.

I knew who you were Tuesday

because I saw your shoes first.

I will not be beaten into the shore

by the recollection of your eyes.

I won’t drift off into

this watery oblivion to the

sound of your voice that has become a second pulse.

I would rather drench all thoughts of black t-shirts

with salt water than tears.

I will no longer let you soak my core.

You are polluted water,

you are distilled liquid.

And I realize I have let myself tread too long

in oil;

watching our impressions on the surface level.

I will not let myself sink to the bottom of the ocean.

And I will not walk through the rain hoping you will kiss me.

I know now that water is both life and

destruction.

I know now you have to let go,

even when you love them.

You have to purge every fluidic memory,

until you are left staring at your own reflection.

So let the floodgates burst forth:

the tsunami that will course through me

will replenish my inner anatomy

as I realize what rehydration feels like.

And all scars of you

have submerged themselves under layers

and layers of thickened skin,

20,000 leagues deep.