A poem for the last person to see me naked
We don’t need to light the candles, I could trace your lips with my fingers in my sleep,
the water turned me into gold as it poured over you and onto me
I know you
I remember the way your rib cage collapsed in the middle and the colors frozen on your forearm.
They convinced me of strength when you pulled me towards you
Did you see what you wanted to see in me?
Aware of all my nerves. I cannot recall your milky skin even existing
I was so hysterical towards myself.
You traced my collarbones when I sat upright (reading your writing)
and yes I hated you more with every word because your skin concealed such sin
you were stroking me with daggers, dear boy
that was wicked
Who were you that your name escapes my mind
were you of little importance
or maybe my mind is fading, elating
Will you be coming back for me?