enydona:

freeze framed in slick swirls of muted colour

periwinkle night, ochre glow

me and you standing in the picture

heads bowed just so

as if we know

how this always goes

picture-perfect memory, faces tinted in the light

of a fluorescent night

you are a painting

in a gallery i can never leave.

Fuck you in slang and conventional English.
Fuck you in lost and neglected lingoes.
Fuck you hungry and sated; faded, pock marked and defaced.
Fuck you with orange rind, fennel and anchovy paste.
Fuck you with rosemary and thyme, and fried green olives on the side.
Fuck you humidly and icily.
Fuck you farsightedly and blindly.
Fuck you nude and draped in stolen finery.

Fuck you while cells divide wildly and birds trill.
Thank you for barring me from his bedside while he was ill.
Fuck you puce and chartreuse.
Fuck you postmodern and prehistoric.
Fuck you under the influence of opium, codeine, laudanum and paregoric.
Fuck every real and imagined country you fancied yourself princess of.
Fuck you on feast days and fast days, below and above.
Fuck you sleepless and shaking for nineteen nights running.
Fuck you ugly and fuck you stunning.

Fuck you shipwrecked on the barren island of your bed.
Fuck you marching in lockstep in the ranks of the dead.
Fuck you at low and high tide.
And fuck you astride
anyone who has the bad luck to fuck you, in dank hallways,
bathrooms, or kitchens.
Fuck you in gasps and whispered benedictions.

And fuck these curses, however heartfelt and true,
that bind me, till I forgive you, to you.

Darling, my zero star, my crossed-out, when were you gone?
Once upon I caught you, a shadow bruise, a bled tattoo,
love, love, Love, the weather was clear, we were drinking.
Now love’s an engine that drags the dark, a smut-stained arpeggio,
the scar-slit moon in its velvet curtain of ether.
Past the stations, past the platforms, mercy mirrors me
a kiss, a tongueless o, part thirst, part extinction.

Do you take pride in your hurt? Does it make you seem large and tragic?