The Good Man

paint me a shade I can’t decipher
and I’ll understand your fervour
comprehend your depression,
your elevation, revelation,
it congeals and sticks in my stomach
like chicken stock and toffee,
why don’t you drink coffee?

bruises consume you like a kiss,
how long would it take you to smoke cigarettes?
my boyfriend does not do drugs
but he does drugs for sex
yes and he bends and congeals in my blood
and he stinks of kerosene,
his tongue bleeds oil, petrol like confessions
as tireless as the train station

he fingers his playstation
like he does his women after dark
and he promises me flowers like afterlife,
give me heaven, why do you not drink coffee?
why do you not roll your blunts like
the way you roll out the night with stars
and photographs of naked teenage girls,
college students and bandanas,
his type is sophisticated and he wanted a
red head
but I feel him congeal me like a soup sauce,
and he eats me,
he eats into me.

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