my addiction

how did we get here?
I'm wondering.

concubine,
you're probably thinking,

alive beside me on the bed.
to be dead and buried alongside your dearest.

your fingers slide over
my fetal denim leg,
and you let one finger
linger in a beltloop.

one tug,
and the pulse of your thumb
on the convex smirk of my stomach

is freeing.

you're hirsute lust, your tarnished gold
skin is a magnet. sun's rays:
welcomed accompanied by clouds and stars.
not when first waking from a black hole.

a shock
of salt
and speed.

I inhale the gut through
my nose and your digit, perplexed,
foundered, flutters, lights
on only air.

the magnet sparks. shivers.
my thoughts sublime: nothing's left.
just my empty head,
a vacuum. a promise to be fulfilled.
I would kiss you 'til
your flesh peeled off and
hissed into steam.

it doesn't. it may have peeled;
my eyes were closed. the taste of
needing you flavors my night at home.

your lips are a steel cage
in which I am tethered.

the next day the hush of taboo
rises like a waif and hovers,
like morning mist, hot ashore.
white vapors, dripping dew.

"that's as far as I'll go - "
and who stopped whom?
you quibble on, excusing, denying.
you go ignored.
you do not know who you have become:

predator and prey.
I seek you out and you mean only to harm me.
but without you I am beached
on my back and drowning.

you are an addiction,
the biggest bane of
my existence. you are
a horny but discerning
wastrel damning himself
with false baptisms;
I have not known a priest to scream.
you are a flaw. you
collapse and then erode me,
burn the pieces.
it's so hard
to stay sad or happy; either.

you are broken, you are breaking me.

you are the reason I
am not long gone,
you are the secret
to my new wardrobe.
you are every poem of my years and every
moment of my autumn.

you are cold rain and my frequent lies.

(I have never been in love
and I like it when it's sunny out.
you're sexier when I think you're cute,
and no, you are not a thrill.
I will forgive you
for following through,

for meaning it.)