i said i'd never stain your
hallow tubes, your uterus,
and eggs with nostalgic rust.

said i'd never be the
final thrust that dug you deeper,
deeper into the apathy
that surrounds our cocoon.

see, i'm starting to emerge
out of these origami shells, the
ones that keep me
trembling at the core.

your interlude has taken
precedence over the emotions
that threaten to crackle like bad static.

you always were
a member of "the press."

but i'd pressed you down
into sheets that linger still of sex,
pressed into those virgin legs and
swallowed hidden messages in your come.

they've brainwashed us in orgasms,
and i'm sitting here at your bedside,
watching while my blood organ resonates
thump, thump, thump in my hand.

08/13/2004

Author's Note: tagging, still, with ms. parker, and the glorious alaina.

(Sub Note: GOD this hurts.)

Posted on 08/14/2004
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe