As he sings in his gentle androgynous voice, my head fills with images of women smoking cigarettes, lingering, touching their long smooth hair and gripping their tall microphones. Dagger nails and black lipstick.
He says he wants to crawl inside, he says he wants to fuck her slow.
Would you sit with me a little while, stranger clad in shadow. Would you listen as I tell you a sad secret that nobody else can know. About a little girl who could feel the thirsty flowers growing in the center of her soul. They grew and grew so wild until the cage of her small chest was full of petals soft as snow. The pretty press of passion, suffocates her slow.
Can you hear the static in my throat when I whisper to you in soft tones. It is the noise the cosmos makes when it is exhausted of its own gaping expanse.
You exhaust me, baby, in all the ways I need to be spent. Spend me like the money you wish you coulda made, pay me like a hooker, pay me like the rent.
I will make it flow. I will make you feel it, make you never wanna go. They will tell you about the blinking of the stars above, but they don’t know their loneliness. I can feel it when I fall for them from way down here below.
This world is so man-made, collapsing at its mechanical knees. Whatever happened to candy-flavored lip gloss and sky-pink lemonade. He’s much older than me, I know you think that’s wrong. But I love the way he loves me, love it when he takes me home and turns me on.
This life is so much darkness crying for the light. I take my own heart between my teeth and sink them in, sink them in sharp and tight. Your mouth is summer in the jungle rain, baby, won’t you stay all night.
When I sing for you, your head fills with flashes of bodies making love and making war. Shallow is the soul of this desperate hellish place. Fuck me til you have to leave, fuck me til it haunts me in my sleep.
Allison Marie Conway 