Pale Love

letting out a soft moan, she
brings chills to my skin
and paralyzes my bones

her icy breath caresses the nape
of my neck, she is nostalgia
dark hair and pale eyes
her lips whisper my name

my nose blushes in shades
of red

my fingertips ache
in shades of blue, I meet her

soft, pale body with the
harshness of mine and
once again, tangled together,
she has come–

my love, December.

Aroma

it has become
harder to breathe
on this continent that
is not my own, when
I try to speak, all
that comes out is
the sweet perfume of
small white stars

jasmine vines encapsulate
my lungs— it is not my
space

to grow here

Bitter

maybe it’s the dark,
acidic coffee I refuse
to take any other way

or the wind lashing
at my exposed neck
this autumnal morning

it could be the disgusting
cigarettes I smoke too much
or the anxiety that shakes me

I feel it coming
like knots in my throat
like frozen dark chocolate

and there’s nothing I can do about it.

maybe I’m just bitter.

 

La Petite Mort

my lover is arcane
for, he only speaks in tongues
he breathes cold, cadaverous air
to fill my empty lungs

Latin chants
over freshly turned earth
he comes creeping in the night
when not another soul is heard

beneath a new moon sky
and in the howling wind
he quietly stalks
aching to nourish his sins

cemeteries are always silent
for, death brings with him a certain hush
you can barely hear his ghostly moans,
not even the roses blush

my lover is strange
for, he never makes a sound
but the pale look in his eyes
can make my dead heart pound

his voice sends gentle waves into the air
they resonate loud around my head
just long enough to
bring me back from the dead

aural necromantics,
we dance beneath decade-old graves
to the cadence of collecting memories
something my body yearns for and craves

again and again,
he brings me back to life
as our lascivious scene fades
into black and white

and when we are together,
I am but frail bones beneath his grip
there is little else I yearn for as
his bony fingers trace my hips

draped in black lace
between silk coffin sheets
my lover and I breathe
one foot apart and six feet deep

eternally I will lie
here in his stone-cold clutch
he is my graveyard baby,
my skeleton boy crush