I fight through the amnesia,
my body trying to remember
the touch of passion on its skin
that would spread a flame, lightening fast.
It reminds me of rough.
Fast and rough,
So familiar a tone from the past,
Almost like a favourite song that I forgot.
The kind that you listen to so often,
you almost hate it now.
And yet, that soft corner;
I hum along.
Scars last longer than hickeys after all.
Halfway between a roar and a sigh,
I fall back once again.
Unable to remember what it feels like
to be making love tender.
Out of grasp, it is a crumbling memory
and my hands only drawing blood.
But I remember that first day.
Our cigarette between the sheets.
And a dateless day burned to memory
When with haste your lips found mine.
My body knows yours,
its best friend.
It is also guilty, though,
of hiding secrets.
Both butterflies and blunted fears,
Hard knots and soft tears.
It even keeps from you, the way to pleasure it better,
going still when you find the sweet spots.
It’s habit, I say.
I think the excuse has grown stale,
Drawing blood has become cliche.
And my head spins when I go too fast
Hold me, slow me down
It’s hard to let go of familiar chaos.
In the blink of an eye, it’s a blur.
Fast. Slow. Breathe in. Now out.
I’m trying, it almost worked.
Darling, I’m sorry for hiding my flaws
It’s not that I don’t want to show
But that I don’t know how.
On a good day, I blink; a blur.
How do I explain the self loathe,
the sudden flash of hate and hurt?
I do miss the look in your eyes
when our bodies converse
but what I want more
and never got to miss, (you can’t miss that which you never knew)
is to show you my demons
in the mirror.
-the positivity of black