I wrote this poem when I was 18. I look back on it now and see different meanings I never even thought of then, yet I can still connect with my old words. I want to set this with art and music.
His flesh is so torrid it scalds my tears;
They trickle down my sodden face and bubble away into vapor trails.
His eyes bore into mine, rigid as nails, rusting away in chips
And I can taste his brackish saliva in my mouth; a breath of tempestuous ocean.
Though devoid of speech, every caress, every nuzzle, holds a whisper.
His scents linger on my skin like barnacles,
Each one attempting to burrow deeper into my skin.
In one white flash we are ruptured into pieces of living shrapnel.
My tears no longer evaporate, but his warmth remains around me, pulsing.
His eyes, smell, and razor rough touch encircle me like a delicate eggshell;
A protective coating that will erode in time.
As he vanishes from sight I let myself sink deeper into my cocoon.
A fountain floods my lap, but I am now numb.
This is not the end.