flick. flick. the heat flashes through her entangled veins- begonia blood boiling against inharmonious impulses; his golden locks and the serein love that rests upon them- his tarantism and the vicious orbs that drown her.
a sip of cranberry poison. towed into the silence hammering against the wonderwalls of her contused temples – pour to the rim, a little salt and lime; his feather-light chortles scream into the abyss between her ribs. now his ungodly whispers burn louder than the violet vodka she injects into her scarred thighs in the name of forgiving and forgetting.
crescents upon her palms. hues of marmalade and canary dissolve into the fine prints upon her blackened fingertips. fractured storms brew against the back of her unsteady neck- famished fangs that she stabbed into the crook of his buttercup scented neck.
a little lilac, but darker. carve seventeen synonyms of sunshine and daisies, twenty-three for poison ivies and thorns- carve the words deep into the raw flesh of her calloused heart.
the hunter becomes the hunted. tether them tight like the constellation of pleiades- a little cursed but binds the universe whole.
YOU ARE READING
guava achings ✓
Poetrybanquets of succulent peaches in tin cans and pretty boys with passionflowers blossoming from their cuticles.
