shedding your costume like a disposable exoskeleton, i study you with immense awe, for you are the epitome of genuinity.
i stand slave to the dark wings, watching from the shadows as the tinted lights roast you alive and burn out your retinas, cone by cone.
and i find myself uttering jokes to you, in the pitch-black, as song erupts around us like inescapable bright thunder.
and i'm making excuses - to hold onto your suit jacket or spare precious seconds just to flash you a smile.
'the urge to merge can rob us of our senses...'
you slide past me, hand on the small of my back, and i melt, like an acid puddle, like a discarded candy on a summer day, right through the stage floor.
and later, once the cannabis fumes have intruded my head and found a new home in my mind and the three sips of hard lemonade had given you the gall you've never had, we could sneak away to the midnight beach.
(and your hands on my cheeks could make even the new york city skyline disappear.)
- may 7th / 9:14 p.m
YOU ARE READING
MISS SATURN
Poetry❝ MEN ARE SUPPOSED TO BE FROM MARS AND WOMEN ARE SUPPOSED TO BE FROM VENUS, BUT I THINK THAT I AM FROM SATURN. ❞ © inexplicits [2017]
