By: Bekah Turney
1.Phantom, walking up my street, come take my breasts. /Cup the void of your palms into gaps filling my reassurance. /Anticipation of empty disappointment. /Cradle the gateway close to my heart. /Touch my skin and enter in. /Swift as the breeze your mist swirling in winter, the coldest of nights. /Smoke screens, blurred lights and repeated melodies. /I’m the Dickinson to the tale of your ghostly passing.
2.Thoughts, lemon drops and candy- /You cut with a knife of lustful insanity. /I suckle your shell, sweet and uncanny. /Melting on my tongue, drips fall into my throat /And your center seeps through, bitter resentment. /Sour pools bleed from your core and shock me into distance, /Lands far From where your vibrant taste once drew me near.
3. “Meet me on Sunset and Granada.” /I forced music into my ears. Lacing shoes, ready to walk for miles. /”I will be there.” / Feet meticulously carry, not too quick, not too slow- /Warmth of sun beaming into my chest, /As elusive darkness wraps my body down dark streets where passion spreads like fire. /Shadowed figure not far, drawn by street lamps. /Sun once in my chest, now illuminating my existence in the night, /Treading flames with every step. /White teeth glistening behind lips soon to take in my embrace. /No days have passed, /And the melting heat of your eager passion blankets my reckoning.
4. Hungry fingers pressed against keys, songs of beautiful resentment- /Can you hear me? /Summer spits beads of sweat down my forehead. /You come back to turn off the thermostat, as babes soon return to misery. /Nestled in a corner of our home where shadows eat the day, fail to hide light sneaking into streams, /On hands that search desperately for grey amongst black and white. /Your silhouette drifts out the back for another puff of cigarette.
5. We drive, window cold, pressed on my cheek. /We sit together, but repelled apart like Backwards magnets. /Obligation drifts us to where family makes light of scattered infidelities. /Children, all of us, with lines on our weathered and pressured grins, /Carrying our tired wheels into hopeful destinations- /Like grasping at unprecedented prizes in machines with mischievous claws. /”This is a great band!” you say, shouting validation to my gaping heart, /Absorbing all the pain of your constant confliction. /Lyric cries through forceful song, “these feelings won’t go away, they be knocking me sideways..” /As my body clings to the barrier between me and fresh air. /Distasteful resemblance, I repeat the note, /And hold captive words where I relate, /But only hope, with your schooled art of song, can hear.