1.    The Great ‘I Am’

I am the white knuckled,
      heaving
embodiment of a stress dream.
Awoken with no breath,
      inhaling
through perforated lungs.

I am the cold feet,
the loose bowel.
My nectar brews acidic,
nails jagged,
teeth sharp.

If you are Autumn’s warm breath
I am the whipping Westerly’s,
struck with sand.
The hair in your mouth.

If you are the potter, I am crumbling clay,
broken by touch.
Crying out
      dehydrated,
longing for the mould.

If you are goodness
I am terror.
Graceless horror.
Wailing beauty
bound to bedsheets.

2.    Cheat Day

You are what I should not eat.
Sweet         fat         risk.
Mouth water.
Every inch of my hot skin -
starlight.

Am I staring?
Sweating?
Breathing in?
Mouth open,
                     corpse-like.
Fingers twitching,
eyes fixated.
I’m staring -
how could I not?

Why don’t you touch me
fill me
fatten me up?
What I should not eat.

I’ll edge a little closer.

3.    This isn’t lust

This is molecules mixing.
I am not my body -
I am yours.
       warm breath
              hungry hands
                     animalistic exhalations
muffled into twisted bedsheets.

Not lust -
Eros.
Where brain ascends body,
      floating skyward.
My wet mouth
      anchored
to your saline skin.

I relinquish water.
Mark me
      hydrated,
            doused.

This isn’t lust.
This is Eden.

4.    Monsoon

We’re headed for the storm drain
the rush is building fast
Isn’t the rain refreshing?
Each drop kisses flushed skin.

Being near you is a lightning storm -
electric acid flashback.
Sparks drip from tin gutters.
Branches cry in the downpour.

I stick my feet through a whole brown leaf,
turn myself a sailboat,
surf bitumen shores.
Down the Oregon hill,
thick breeze in eyeballs,
fat rain on skull.

Heading for the storm drain
screaming
holding hands.
You let mine slip,
detour to wet grass.

I fall to waterways,
torn
    from leaf
          and lover
afloat.

5.    Troubleshooting

Why call it a broken heart?
Mine functions.

Pulses that once beat for you 
shiver
      anxious
in your absence.
Little wires fixed to one another
flare
      alighting
each connected nerve.

Not broken,
thumping loud.

I have laid awake each night,
a month,
sonic heartbeats
     rattling through
shaky ribcage
      some fleshy morse code.
Spreading dull aches
at your lack of response.

Nothing broken about this heart.
All systems online.

I beg for rest,
                      malfunction,
end to mournful misery.
Allow me laughter,
      sleep,
          unfurrow my brow.
Why call it a broken heart?
Not once has it stopped
calling out for you.

6.    Medusa

Thick brick black wall
I am a stale dry fruit.

Cardboard cut-out of a careless woman
whispering delicate dialects -
seduction
dripping from my dead lips.
You look thirsty.

I am the desert mirage,
drawing you in,
promising sweetness.
Kiss me.
I’ll bite your cracked lip.

Never trust a Sand Queen.
I will sink you swiftly.
Remorseless,
dead-eyed,
straight-backed siren.

Should have read the fine print.
You should heed my words.
I will shred you,
mourn your slow death,
kiss you softly,
choke you out.