New writing: poetry

2.

ripe flesh

teeming, throbbing

a clammy, sticky body

offers me a line

if i come with him

to the men’s bathroom

~

i wake up

the girl next to me

looks angelic

with peroxide bangs

and last night’s glitter

sparkling on the pillow like fairy dust

~

sunday morning’s cold, judgemental light

filters in through frosted glass

and i shiver

as i leave nothing

nothing but the love-bite

on her bony chest

~

and then

i am running 

and the breath burns in my chest

from one too many cigarettes

~

and all i am

is a series of discordant notes

and we are an interrupted cadence

waiting a resolution

or to begin again