the images&words, they haunt me.

Do you remember that night

we lay flat on our backs,

the dry, dead grass crinkling against

our bare, browned skin and

you lifted my heavy hand,

bending my plump fingers

to-and-fro, like you were testing

how far they could stretch

and I watched the tips never trying

to resist you because that’s how we

were, always my words crashing

into your heart but you

never listened and I never felt

the pressure of your lips hard against

mine as I gasped to get away,

well, do you?

rhythm of the line.

foolish to think, foolish

to feel this way. but
it's heavy on my chest, 
wrought-iron wrapped
around my ribs. strings 
of words like: 

sun-burnt clichés, I said

you inspire me, and

you believed it, kept it,

locked it tight

in your fist. but you

could have been anyone.

you said we were
just always, always 
and never. but what
boils beneath, like
blood below the skin so
thin. I know you think

I'm a fool.