if i had a heart

he ripped into my dreams again last night.  my long lost friend.

he’s the familiar shadow of a silver-tongued deceiver prowling on the wine wall, amnesia like sequins beading from the rusty valley of his pores, wet grass, filthy winter rain for eyes & i wrangle it all in my mouth like a siren capturing sea-gems on her tongue-bed, held like a bullet caught between teeth. a chthonic jeweler fashioning a ring from heartsick-heavy brows overburdened, incurably lone, melted down to the joint, onto the bone. but he’s just an old year’s specter. a christmas carol. the hot graveyard dust my breath makes in the cold. like always, never truly him. my pulseless chest is sore from pressing against empty air.

i don’t remember what his kurt cobain, dirty-blonde lips tasted like, except for when they tasted like me. i tore apart a red rose and walked to the corner of your street. burned secret words. littered the ashes & petals on the concrete. maybe i ripped you apart, too. i begged gods of love to tell me like so: if you love me come back, if you don’t i will know, i will know. & i knew.

i whisper in a jar, a hole in a tree

i love you & you’ll never know

the words are trapped there waiting

like the ocean’s song

twirling its hair inside of a shell

already spit out

but still saying its name

over & over.

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words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.