J
by Gabrielle Lauren Byrnes
He grins and says, there’s lipstick on your neck— like I’ve been able to think of anything else since you put it there like I’ve been able to think since you showed up at my door in those pink plush slippers you love. I can’t sleep. Since you crawled into my bed and tucked yourself into my throat. I’d like to say, baby, baby, baby, did you know your heart isn’t in this? did you know it’s beating somewhere else that’s not here? That’s not mine? But I’d like to say it as if I’m not scrounging around your chest for pieces as if I wouldn’t shove my fist through your ribs for a shard. So I don’t say anything because we know this already. Humdrum and humdroll and on and on and on— you tuck yourself into my throat and I can’t breathe. Is that what you wanted, sweetheart? Was that your intent? When you whispered baby like it meant something like not a knife like something like love? Let me put it this way: My chest is open on the pavement and your hands are wet and red to the wrist and you’re asking me to hold on but there’s nothing to hold on to except your cheek. You’re crying and I can’t breathe. I say, sweetheart. And look, now my blood’s on your jaw and the whorls of your
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