Underneath the Floorboards and Months Across these Doors.

He sat there, turning his fingers around and studying the fingernails that

tip tapped

against the windows I had kept...

closed...

for fear of seasons dripping in, he

sat there

with no concern for the curls that fell across my winter worn cheeks, for the moisture that covered my face, for the blue eyes that stripped him...

he decided...

nothing.

I ignored the lack of depth in him and measured his silence with yardsticks 2 feet too long, his inappropriateness excited me...

and I dissolved somewhere in the mess of sheets on a Tuesday afternoon, while he

tip tapped

telephones and excused selfishness with a kiss upon my skin, Decemeber-drunk and ripped

between his teeth.

I reasoned with logic and mocked the irritation of my heart, he was out of sync with tomorrow, she breathed him out with the sighing of dandelions, he stuck himself

right in the middle of me

and I accepted nothing, the edges of my brain stained with Edger Allen Poe and the absence of literature inside his mouth...

I could smell him down in Florida and I knew....

somewhere in the cracks of me I still wanted him, he bled from my skin with no

concern

for the

tip tapping

that now resided in my head, I was nothing more than a corner to him, nothing more

than cobwebs and something

a little bit

beautiful.

I shocked myself with his disdain for acceptance and watched him dirty himself with pride...

I

tip tapped

my fingers on his forehead to hear the rattling of thoughts

and silence screamed back with the audacity

to mock

him...

but winter loved us once, and arguments mirrored secrets, he slept, violently, and I rocked back

and forth

on the edge of these memories yesterday

as I washed his

blood

off my bathroom door.

Reviews

[Marie Anzalone]

The imagery in this is pure astounding, and you weave a tale of suspense like few I have seen. I am unsure whether to take the ending as fact or metaphor, but it deos not change the slow descent into realization, one whit. This is a piece that will saty with me, and will leave me pondering the repetition, the way you strung the images together, and the way you inhabited the narrator of the poem so deeply i could feel her breathe. Spellbinding.

[Roger Turgeon]

I see. Sad ( : O (

Come in....get out. painful choices.

[SmileOfARebel]

Wonderful poetry. Description this poem had was clear and vivid for the reader to capture. :-)

[Alisa Js]

Astounding!

[MOON]

This is a short thriller full of twists and turns , I love your turn of phrase and how you told the story. Striking.

[lee von cleef]

Thick emotions,glad you got rid of tip and his tapped.

[Ronn Michael Salinas]

Implied infidelity on the guy's part?

[Jeanmarie Flaherty]

No. He had beat the living tar out of me and strangled me. The blood occurred when I had finally got him out of the house and he broke through the front door window to get in. I locked myself in the bathroom to call 911 and he was pounding on the bathroom door, his blood staining it. So. That's that.

[Ronn Michael Salinas]

Sh*t. You're serious?

[Jeanmarie Flaherty]

Yes. I'm serious.

[Tomás Ó C..]

The conflict is vivid here and raw...

[no sun]

"somewhere in the cracks of me I still wanted him" what a great line. Completely sets the tone of this piece. He is your addiction, you can go to rehab all you want but all it takes to fall back into him is one bad day, moment or thought that is always waiting in that crack. Am I making too much out of one line? A truly great write because of how to twist in dark undertones and sometimes flat out black ones. Would give you a 100/100 but you didn't ask.

[Black Hole Halo]

I wouldn't know which line to start with they are all mind blowing. nice.

[Leigh]

Your words throw up strong imagery, I can really follow your train of thoughts, like I am with you