SOL: Pernicious

If ever you were to wonder why I loved him
It was for his poetic madness, his wild eyes
Clenching his teeth as he stared into mine
The addictive taste fear drips from lip to
Waiting tongue, it becomes all too much
Yet never enough
I sent him a restraining order and
He folded it into a paper crane with a
Savage smile thirty-two teeth too wide
The familiar sweaty handprints he left on my chest
On my lower back, on the nape of my neck
Impressions he longed to press into softest skin
Subliminal deceit he would whisper into
My ears as I would sleep, insatiable desires ate my lips
When we kissed, yet I complemented his sweetness
As deadly as it is

3AM Thoughts // AKA “A Mistake, A Lesson, A Warning.”

SOL: Realidad

Drinking red wine for breakfast
Each kiss tasting sweeter than
Your last cigarette, hand rolled, artist’s fingers
Leaving paint smudges on skin like
A canvas, tangible mementos
Terrace doors thrown open to the
Breeze, early summer sun casting
Illicit shadows on pristine white walls
You come only when she calls in the
Ultimate deceit
Wrought iron balcony turns into a
Late evening show, railing grasped tight
White knuckles, threatening to burst through skin
Sweaty repentance mixed with late night
Confessions, empty of remorse
Leaving on tip-toe while the house is still
Silent, praying no one ever knows

3AM Thoughts // AKA “Most Delicious As A Mistress.”

SOL: Sonder

I love you and
So I sit on each lonely terrace smoking
Poorly rolled cigarettes and dreaming
Of a different denouement, same climax
Something juicier I can sink my teeth into
Here I might have given you whatever
I have left, anything that had not been
Lifted from me already by worthless hands
(Yes, I still think of your fingers on my neck
But I digress)
Laughing in spite of myself, drinking bottomless
Coffee cups to soothe the lump in my throat
The emptiness that opened in my chest
When I said I was leaving and you said
It was for the best

3AM Thoughts // AKA “A Lesson In Indulgence, A Crash Course In Self-Control.”

SOL: Delusions

He thinks I write for him
Pouring laboriously over prose that
Sweeps him away like a current
It is his love of disaster that keeps us
Entwined, not the sound of my laughter
Fingers twitch, mind swells and he pulls me
Reluctantly across another stage of
Which he is the omnipresent master
Churning my words into oblivion, getting
High on sonnets and lost in translation
He leaves me shouting at mirrors, my
Sideways glances fall short of his vast
Interpretations, when I told him I was
Leaving he wrote me thirty love letters
Desperately believing we will end up together

3AM Thoughts // AKA “Me Walking Away Is Not A Romantic Act.”