her vagina was like the blue rose. whenever I brought my mind to thoughts of her inner thigh — awash with the fruits of her pleasure. she was an uninhabitable spirit, but as my luck would have it; she let me in. mom always praised the one before, but she did indulge in the dethroning of her only son. for all my loneliness, her gestures made my heart swell. people were dying, and the world was in a crisis. yet, I’d never been so happy. once we finally met, we would have taken a streetcar through the city — admiring the promising aroma of chardonnay and peach parfait. my desire was wrapped up in a sheath of deception, unwilling to tell her the fate of my mortality. the devil on my shoulder would burn like the cranberry sun, painfully aware of the organ growing in my pants. my only respite from this demonic existence was her popping up on my phone. who needs drugs when you have her? I’d hurt myself just so she didn’t have to do it alone. violence is the cultural essence of our species, taking it in turns to cement further torture. for my last night, I got drunk as a skunk on absinthe. visions of her lying beside my motionless corpse haunt me. for a scene so devastating, she looked arresting. life is one big magnifying glass, and the only speck I see is the woman I never got to meet.
under the thumb of
the history of my love
they only see youth
*This is a haibun poem that will be featuring in my upcoming micro-chapbook THAT GUM YOU LIKE.
Courtenay's Corner 