Running in a red dress, I’m reeling from a stranger’s kiss,
rattling insignificant matters off my tongue like bowling
pins. There is space for someone else to park their star
now. Space for someone else to race their heart with my
attention. I pour affection onto the reflection of your
rejection, whoring my mind out to anyone that cares
to listen. I’m christening this time as the era of a phoenix;
I’m rising from the ashes in ways I shouldn’t, rehashing
the past in tiny diamonds to sew into my pockets. Last
time it scattered, I spent seven years trying to put it back,
chasing feathers in the night like the ghosts of mistakes.
This is not the same. I will not burn out for you or singe
other lovers with burning words. I will just dig a hole
in the sand, a little grave to bury my hopes…
(as if they’d become pearls.)
Alexia
writes here
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