I watch his eyes for the things he may not know how to tell me but I need to know are there.
Bubbling up in his blood. Prickling all over his body like pebbles of hard rain on a stone gray ocean. I wear a tiny bit of lace, light the candles by the mirror like maybe I’ll be saved, anointed, forgiven.
I want to be soft and him to be savage tonight.
Fuck poetry. Poetry is murderous. Poetry tears you into shreds, makes you beg. If it’s worth anything, it kills. Makes you watch. Makes you a witness. Makes you a voyeur and a spy. Poetry is utter devastation. A haunted kind of life.
It has been a long time since I formed my mouth around a word like a vengeful god binds his wrath into a fist. Since I kissed you like a burning bruise.
Let you drown in the searing ache of wet rose madness for a while.
Now all your thoughts of me are swollen, ripe, and red.
All the color has drained from the head.
I like the way your jaw juts out from your thick neck. I like the way you force the taste onto my tongue.
My love is a brutally beautiful thing. Lavish with a suffocating kind of attention.
I watch his eyes as he does it. I watch like a snow white lamb for the glistening of teeth.
Watch him fuck all the pain out of me.
Take it. Cut the lights and skin my knees. Poetry is reckless. Poets are nothing but bottomless pits of need.
Allison Marie Conway 
I am a bottomless pit of need. Who knew? Smiles.
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Ah ha, we are kindred, my dear. A treat to make you smile, thank you so. ā¤
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You often do.
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Do I really? Well. Now I am smiling, too.
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Perfect
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x
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Aren’t most of us! šāØš
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Indeed, my dear. ā¤
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Hope you have a great week, My Dear! Looking forward to your new posts!!
ššš¹
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It was absolutely perfect, thank you ever so. ā¤
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“Let you drown in the searing ache of wet rose madness for a while”
My favorite line, Allison!
You SLAYED this piece, girlfriend. š„š
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Ah, dear sweet Lisa, thank you ever so very much! You warm my heart with your kind words and spirit. xx ā¤ ā¤
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ā¤ā¤ā¤š
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šš
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“Fuck poetry. Poetry is murderous. Poetry tears you into shreds, makes you beg. If itās worth anything, it kills. Makes you watch. Makes you a witness. Makes you a voyeur and a spy. Poetry is utter devastation. A haunted kind of life.”
Oohh I loved this, makes me scream with joy! Excellent! I don’t know how I missed it. ā¤
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I love that you found this and it made you scream for joy! I know you get this probably more than most… Thank you for your gorgeous poetic heart, LM. šš»ā„ļøš
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