knownrecidivist

I walked into the cave with my eyes shut, Seeking answers, Seeking solitude, Seeking her. I almost stumble over a statue, Hands stretched out, A warning. They told me about a monster. Even the wind does not stir the air here. My hands touch the walls As I advance. It is not cold. Her voice rings out from far away, Echoing and echoing an accusation, But I answer with a question of my own Before I state my purpose: Never again, Say I, Will I look upon man But you may touch me. My thighs are strong and soft and warm Though they are scarred. I raise my dagger to my right eye. If you will have me, I say. She is silent, But I hear hissing and footsteps. Fingers gently trace my face And lips are pressed against my forehead. You can stay if you want, She says. Her voice is soft. They’ll never touch us. They’re all scared of me.

"I can't leave" is what she said when I asked her to come with me her short hair rustling like leaves in the seashore breeze we were eating burgers on Venice Beach and as soon as she was done she walked into the ocean she was far away I couldn't see her right but I knew she'd have goosebumps right up to her stomach the waves were building to a chorus she was one of the ageless caged angels this cursed city births; lipstickless and lovely dark eyes like voids sparkling with artificial light I always felt more confident in her love for this city than I did in her love of me "I can't leave," she whispered to me in bed that night "don't you understand? I love it and hate it" this is how i briefly became echo, lost in that intoxicating abyss which reflected only itself this is how I was: unworthy of the capital letter that pink mouth of hers only ever swallowed me whole and still I miss being devoured "I love it and hate it" and you loved and hated yourself don't follow your

"this feels divine" you told me as my fingertips traced the hills and valleys of your back i did not have the tongue to tell you: only because you make it so only because you are holy you turned over your hot breath against my breast and i trailed my hands over the curves and lines of your side "you are intoxicating" you told me, softly "rather more Dionysian than Apollinian," i replied your throat arched beautifully in the dark room i watched, enchanted, as you spoke: "give me wine, then" you moaned gently sighed melodically when i worked my way towards your lower abdomen not quite a frenzy i had the words but not the will: this is not a blessing this is worship