lips of pleasure, lick of death
Mar 29, 2023 16:43:10 GMT -5
Post by arctic on Mar 29, 2023 16:43:10 GMT -5
I wish I wrote to Woods’ more.
He didn’t want me to leave traces of my desire. He was scared of our love, the thing that built a hope for love, would be the thing that destroys. Through the depressed gray bricks that have built up our BASE of safety, our red love would paint the walls. We feared that the walls would turn red. Red out of the lust for freedom, red in Painted by the splatters of DNA that told us we shouldn’t love. Our love would be an eviction notice to our home.
I’ve faced worse pain in the last six days than I ever expected had our love been public, and I wish it was. We were late nights. Nights where floorboards are strategically placed to creak at the approach of exposure. Where two under the sheets, twisted, turned, flipped, shuffled into the small space between the bed and the floor. Where they can’t see us. We were kisses behind closed doors, thumbs stacked on top of each other in a subtle war of dominance. The intimate moments when our bodies, our hands that could be used to grip, hold, love, praise, love - our bodies, like they were cloaked, only allow freedom in the shadows of the world.
I cannot hide here.
I don’t want to hide anymore. If I can survive a dagger, escape the light and smoke of a cigarette to honour my death, I can love. I should. I should have given Woods more than momentary love, seconds, minutes of pleasures hidden by a wiped lip.
Boom, boom, boom, boom, the cannons of the day announce. We are at eight. Freed, and alive another day, I wipe my lip of the blood, of the pain that I suffer to love Woods once again.
[kaitlin]
