Birthday Stars

poetic_star's picture

There's a monster growling under my bed
but I lost interest in him ages ago
and now you're the only thought
occupying my mind in
the vanilla wallpaper darkness.
Late November clings
to your lashes and birthday stars
collide into the lark pond,
their orange flames
resemble romantic
suicide attempts glowing
near our neighborhood.

Violin strings mark your palms
and I stare as our hands brush
and snow appears in puffs on
the rooftops of old colonial homes.
5th Avenue was built for all
the drunken socialites but
you and I wander here because
we have nothing to lose,
buying flowers for 50 cents and
pointing at fireworks in
the freeway silver sky,
we're unusual, baby, yet alive.

Stumbling back, we chuckle
at weird jokes and Mozart
plays through the windows
as we settle down
on the vintage sofa,
dozing off between
sweet clouds of metaphorical
smoke and Saturday commercials.

In my arms, you are more than
a roommate and a friend;
a creature with Tennessee raw lips
and almond brown strands falling
against the logo on my jacket,
your cheek half lit by
the shadow in the corner.

I want you so bad, it hurts,
and I'm scared of this
phantom I've become;
needy and dangerous,
thirsting for maybes
as the painted sun
breaks through my reverie.
Lost in your purple charm
and millennium green eyes,
I can't remember
a time when we weren't
too close for comfort,
never warm enough in
our Antarctica-inspired universe.

And winter isn't a wonderland here
like they show on television, baby;
crisp and twinkling,
smelling of peppermint
and greeting cards, no.
It's just another opportunity to
miss you under these
chipped china clouds
and cynical raindrops.

It's an excuse to pretend that
my heart isn't merely
a messed-up organ
and that you're not
just smiling to be nice when
the cursed clock's
hand hits twelve
because there's no one else
we can dive into
like a well-practiced lie.
I'm sick of wishing so hard,
I taste blood, so
just tell me this is more
than desire but
less than love
so that I can stop imagining
Alaskan blue sheets tangled
around our ankles in
the hazelnut morning
and the slow descent
of your fingers along
my orange tree spine.

Comments

Bosemaster42's picture

MMM...

"Alaskan blue sheets tangled around our ankles in the hazelnut morning and the slow descent or your fingers along my orange tree spine."
This is hot, and somehow makes me hungry at the same time.

poetic_star's picture

:P

ha thanks, babe. didn't think it'd make anyone hungry ;)