by Talicha J.
This nectar is not sweet,
it is a bitter remedy,
it is life over easy running down my thigh,
turned me plastic but I’m no Barbie
I’m just a creature of habit
Habitually crawling between his bed sheets
where we speak in touch, moan and thrust
and he, he bites my tongue
or so it seems, as I’ve lost all ability to speak
He doesn’t seem to care that the scent of me is the perfume of broken,
doesn’t mind that at times I’m a long distance call away even as he holds me.
I think maybe he delights in my inability to be anything other than something to do on a Saturday night,
and I delight in the lack of need to be anything other than loose enough to mold my insecurities into everything he’s seeking
I am flexible for him,
contorting my self-esteem to something more beautifully devastating than a thousand origami swans crumpling.
I slip like sand particles through the cracks in his smile
and do not find surprise in how difficult it is to pick all of my pieces up to return to daylight
My skin has turned to steel,
my breath reminds one of doused fire, flames extinguished by admittance of defeat
and my body knows its been weak,
knows its nectar is not sweet but a bitter remedy only temporary.
It is life never easy, running down my thigh.