blueweekends

Sunday Morning breakfast

in the suburban, backseat

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heaving and tiresome flesh

pools of sweat beneath a fabric thick and unyielding

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I know what I said but you know what you saw

you know I’m a fraud but you can’t help but watch

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shot up with a bloodlust for Divination

through self mutilation

and the first break of flesh to expel the addictive nectar of masculinity

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If black are His skies

Clear blue I will be

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some days

I start to send you songs that remind me of the roads we used to take

of the bars we used to break

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driving home with my eyes closed, head tilted back

do you ruminate in me, too?

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I carry myself everywhere I go

veins pumping through every street and highway

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when your fire finally dropped from the sky,

I fucked up and cracked a smile before the tears even dried

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I worry

if he still loves the texture of my skin

and if theres a place for me if it changes again

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