tonight we flee

6 - 13 - 12

There is a cracking of his knuckles, and she wonders.

          ----  do you know the map of my body,

                 the way my scars move with my dancing  -----

she asks, and he slithers against her form.

          -----  there is no place

                 i have not surrendered to our clasped hands

                 our faked remembrance

                 and the mattress of our race to hell  -----

His voice is a whisper like coffee through her veins.

Author's Note

Thank you for reading C:

Reviews

[The Empty Hour Glass]

The structure, the tone, the pure ecstasy! This reaches into my chest and threatens to squeeze my every desire throughout my veins, put retracts a moment before contact. It leaves me starving - empty. Wanting more! You have talent for this, that is undeniable. Well played, well played indeed! But for the record - I believe you are better than you are leading me to believe with this poem! Don't be afraid to through your deepest emotions and most valuable secrets unto the page! Your work is great, yes - but not as good as it could have been. (I mean no offense - I'm just trying to encourage you to do better**)

[Jordan A. Wilson]

To me this is kinda "out there", but that's what I like about it.