Ex abundantia enim cordis os loquitur.

He seduces me on Latin tongue and Turnarounds

Or Blackbirds,

Or whatever the kids are calling those pills now-a-days.

He calls them Aimies, just for tonight.

We consume

Lines from the nightstand Bible-

Little broken Aimies,

Tiny crippled Blackbirds.

He says he wants to make me come.

I'm thinking of going until his mouth traces,

A pedibus usque ad caput,

And I'm overrun with Amens.

He expends every drop

From canister,

To thigh,

To thigh,

And back again

Like he's doing whippets for the queen.

Hail Mary, shield your face...

There's blood on the sheets-

Little blood drops on the sheets.

One thousand fingers, veiled and humble

Search for warm places-

Sacred spaces

To ignite,

To rest.

"God, you're beautiful."

"Jesus, you're amazing."

And every word he says,

I think I should write down

For the nights when I'm less divine,

For the nights when I'm revolting.

Tomorrow is The Day of the Blessed Virgin.

Tomorrow, we won't lay communion in our mouths.

Tomorrow, we'll toast with Tabasco and tomato at the dawn of a Holy Day.

But tonight we'll fuck.

And like good Catholic boys

And sweet Catholic girls,

We'll make promises that will

Die in the sun.

I fell asleep and 

     your arms opened,

          slid underneath me-

every crease, crevice or 

     break in the surface of dream,

          you stretched, netted between

as if from star to star,

     keeping me comfortably 

          out of these nightmares that haunt me. 

our story was just beginning, my love

every touch was another swirly letter

every kiss added a touch of color

me and you, you and me

we were both enchanted by one another

but theres an end to everything

and I'm afraid I ended this story too soon

Now as I thumb through the thick, empty, white pages of what could have been, I feel just as unwritten as our story

Roses are red

All stained and torn

Ruin laid ahead

The start of a storm

Glasses were shattered

Voices were raised

The beginnings of an endless charade

The night was quiet

His voice was sweet

God, can't you taste that bitter defeat

He told you he loved you

You believed what he said

Now theres a hole in you

and its blossoming red

Silence

Silence silence silence

it never exists in the space around me

I am loud

No it's not a bad thing for a woman to be and

No I can't and won't lower my voice

My voice is meant to be heard, not silenced

My voice is echoing and abrasive and truthful

My voice is the sound of the waves crashing against the seashore,

The harsh cry of the seagulls circling above

My voice is the rumblings of the earth and the crack of thunder

My voice is mine

My voice is valid