grave letters ✓

11

you placed gravel under my skin and painted me in blue with your mid june rainwater. bone thin arms and lychee sap dreams- my baby was always gone before the morning.

levi jeans and stranded parking lots- i was somebody's fourth daughter and so, my lover never bothered walking me home.

scraping silver spoons along the seams of the burning mediterranean sun and placing them- sun dust in my staroil-coated locks. now i'm feverish and scribbling letters with grapefruit-scented lip-gloss, staining your swollen elbows with guava achings.

fine palettes of peroxide- i build a colossus for my lover with the gravel he forced into my calloused skin, his milk teeth in the crook of my lilac tainted neck- gilting me with his mosaic love. though the pieces never really fit, and as time flew- as though folded paper planes, my remains let go from the metal poles of my marble balcony with tears in their tiny hearts.

dieramas along your tumoured ribs,- you tie thirteen knots with loose scrunchies. my paper planes should never fly in the baby blue sky- not without hand-in-hand with yours.

i was a bijouterie in your collection of fallaleries, but you never had a damn clue.

i had thought colours were pretty until i met you.