daisy chains

there's a fire in paris (11)

im on a movie poster in Times Square, and Paris won't stop pressing her lips to my neck and sucking me dry.

everyone knows I like to kiss her right above her hips and between her thighs.

her father knows and my mother knows but im on tv and they cant say jack. they are the quivering leaves in Autumn, mice caught in mice traps. how desperate.

when im not tryna break my back on set, i'm holding her hand.

we go to Paris in the spring, and then summer, and then autumn and winter like we cant get enough of the weather.

there i kiss a man in the middle of the louvre, when cameras are pointed at us, and then, when they are not.

how my body burns for him. i feel it in the insides of my thighs, where i picture him touching me. i burn for him behind my neck, i burn for him when i wish it was his tongue in my mouth, pulling my lungs out past my lips and swallowing them whole. mama, you never did tell me it could burn this bad.

they told me men will tear you apart. Paris taught me men can be tender and hard when they wanna. She taught me not to kiss behind her back, that love was open for everyone to see. when she whispers, "je t'aime, ma chère," all i can think of are the silver rings on his fingers, the ones that cool my skin only to set it ablaze.

I lose sleep. I think of him. I twist and turn and beat my pillow until Paris wakes up to kiss me.  and i kiss her back only because i can picture him as i slide my fingers into the hair that's too smooth, and kiss the lips too sweet to be his.

so when they take pictures of us in the city, Paris leaves. i leave Paris. we become two separate entities and i never ever want to go back to that city that made me lose my mind. and i leave him behind although i continue to lose sleep, although my body feels as though it's on fire.

bisous, bisous.

i wish i'd let you kiss me that one time.