Lament for a Modern Danae (DRAFT-A-LICIOUS)

I
There were nights of motion, of wetness,
of weeping and pleasure, of ghasping for air.
Once, she lived in desire. She woke in the night
to the feel of you between her legs. You were
her Zeus, your hand sliding into her was a shaft
of moonlight melding her life to yours, creating in her
a divine pregnancy. [...]

Home

On your back, I traced the words I was too scared
to say. You followed the path of my fingers, though,
and were disappointed by my fear. When you asked
me to give voice to that sentiment, I thought you
could be my new home. I am obsessed with a house
two blocks south of my apartmet. [...]

When I was a dominatrix

I.
you drove me to work every afternoon laughing
at how easy it can be to earn so much, to do
so little. I never told you about the seventeen
minutes of fear, alone in a room with this unknown,
possible peditor, the way I listened with my whole
body; I felt what should come next. You saw me:
the [...]

Seal these wounds

I’ve been drowning my fears
in astringent and slitting them
open with the tip of a knife.
Your words can dissolve
the edge of my anger, but only
motion can wipe the residue
of horror and sadness
off of my skin. Only the feel
of paper against my index finger
or the warmth that lies
inside your mouth can seal
these wounds I created.

Bad Decisons

She went outside, face still hot
and red. The dog pulled her
down the street, and her anger
melted when flakes of snow
hit her face. She knows
how to chose the worst
path every time. It always
ends this way, a cold night
sky, drifting snow,
and the echoes of what
now could be had she made
one good choice about you.

I’m a theif

I woke, eyes blurry, as you packed your bag
the morning after I pushed my hand into your jeans
under flashing lights, after I made you shiver without
anyone else noticing. I hid your thin blue shirt,
hems unraveled with wear, under the blankets.
I never wanted you to stay, but I needed something
that would remind me you were [...]

What I told you

I can remember the low orange glow
of lamplight lost in the high cielings
of my first apartment in this city
casting the shadow of your profile
on the wall when I told you
my poems are all fiction, and none
would really be about you. I told
you you might recognize gestures,
movements, but these have been
ripped out of life at [...]