In truth, I am dishonest, at best.
Easy to please, impossible to satisfy.
A lover with her head in the clouds
and her hands forever searching for
a body that could feel like home,
somewhere that will notice
her absence and leave
the light on.
I convince myself
that I enjoy the way
you push my head down,
my knees bent at your bedside
in a bittersweet prayer,
a modern love ballad
dedicated to a girl
who spent her
life begging.
Yet, you struggle to dominate
the stars tugging at my braids,
to remove Saturn's rings from
my fingers;
my other world, forgetful thief,
he stole my mind and left the rest.
I've felt homesick since.
A stronger woman would leave first;
I must confess that I am a lovesick liar
still learning to touch with mercy.
He's never coming back,
but I swear to you that I will.
In truth, I make vows I can't keep.
You pull at my threads
to keep from coming undone,
and I keep the sound of your name
alive in late-night letters to your
bedroom ceiling.
A gentle hunger,
a shared name engraved in our veins.
I grieve with my teeth.
[a star traced its promises on my skin, once.
i moan against the weight of this world,
whisper of its light to every lover since.
i will leave us both pleased,
and aching for the sky's embrace.
please, abandon me. ]
eve's note: this was written for those who use sex to subdue the emptiness, only to be filled with guilt after. i see you, i love you. you'll always have a seat at my table, yeah?
YOU ARE READING
HEAVENLY CORRUPTION
PoetryThe ramblings of a woman who spent too much time in confession and too little time trying to figure out what exactly she was apologizing for.
