Spit on Him

I wear myself in two pieces,
Body torn in half and scratched to embers.
I look at the old pictures and the albums,
And I could spit on them.

It is the feelings made of lead stuffing themselves inside my head,
That we were momentary,
The people move in and out of this pub
And I go to the beach to escape the air filling my lungs.

I go to the kettle, flip the switch.
Remembering how my body used to mean something to you.
You used to map me out like you were on a journey,
Through the curve of my spine, my fingers the junctions.

Maybe my freckles could’ve been the rest stops.
You slept on all my details.
We used to sit under the blankets and talk,
I’ve been transported back to childhood in your arms.

Seeing it snow.
We are that time of night where it is dark,
And we switch on the bedroom lamp to read.
Maybe if this bitterness didn’t stick in my voice like a knife,

I’d be less resentful.
I sip the tea now the kettle’s boiled and the milk’s poured,
I pull up a chair
And I spit on him as the rain kisses the windows.

I used to think it was God’s saliva.
I had weird thoughts like that.
I used to articulate them to you,
And we held hands in the storm.

I carry broken glass in my stomach
And fragments of what we were,
And you plucking your guitar like the notes were made out of stars,
I swallow the tea and spit on him.

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2 thoughts on “Spit on Him

  1. Wow, this is unforgettable. There was raw beauty even as you wrote (spat) what would be considered ugly things. I adored the effortless wit in your language, and the flow of sincerity and irony was strong and poignant.

    Do stay inspired.

    Like

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