you used to be my
saccharine sweet molasses.
slow,
you dripped fingerlight, and candle light;
i lapped you up drink by drink.

in these holes i've buried you,
in these minds i've solved you,
this puzzle, the one that fits me,
a glove,
leather, and black.

holidays have always
smelled like our history.
the perfume
you sunk into my nostrils
was more potent
than the pomegranates and
rose rings.

i hung you on my door;
one nail was all it took.
god, you've become an
image, hanging there,
my own personal hail-mary,
torn, and weathered.

its snowing.
eyes have seeped through
these cuts that strain;
the ones that sank,
the ones that laced my shoes.
i had tripped

over you, and
fallen into the gutter of our
memories,
those sour sweet flakes that
dissolved after i had stitched you
in and up, and around my throat.

i still wear you
like a necklace.
you've tarnished some.

its hell where i'm living,
i know you couldn't survive.

you'd fall,
you'd drown,
you'd melt

(and once,
that would have been a good thing.)

11/16/2003

Author's Note: in answer to alaina schneider's "stake me (untitled)" piece. *wry grin.* oh yes. much inspiring. much love, doll!

Posted on 11/17/2003
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe