Showing posts with label disappointment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label disappointment. Show all posts

streets

by savannah | tags: , | 0 comments
the streets are slick
filled with puddle jumping girls in white floral dresses
and their yellow fathers who watch them
or rather
the dirty water vanishing into the thirsty gutter
as they take a long drag from their fourth cigarette
wondering how their daughters got to be so goddamned lucky

clattering heels enter and exit slippery cabs
that smell like body odor and cheap sex with bubblegum
and soon disappear behind swollen doors to dark houses
where plaster people hold plastic cups and each other
to forget
or remind themselves
that they are here

and the din of emergency brakes and ambulances
punctuates the smug silence of the stars
that hang above
reminding us of what we’re made of
and what we’ll never be

Slut

by savannah | tags: , , | 1 comments
I remember looking into the mirror and dotting on a slightly brighter shade of lipstick than I normally would.
I remember trying in vain to master a sexy smirk, and then wiping off the lipstick with my right shirt sleeve.
And then, I remember, looking into the mirror and smiling.
I remember the sound my doorknob made when he twisted it open--the brass knob was a little loose and rattled uneasily.
But most of all, I remember the quiet tap the door made when he pushed it closed.
I remember the gentle fluttery feeling of fabric leaving my body like a bird, and that crisp crunching sound when he removed the straps of my bra.
I remember giggling warmly into his ear, because I thought it sounded like it does when you bite into an apple for the first time.
I remember holding his neck and how it felt like a mitt, each vertebrae being specially spaced for my fingers to fasten to.
I remember looking into his eyes, knowing I was ready, and I remember the soft and fuzzy words that were exchanged as we lay our bodies onto the ivory sheets.
I remember my naked lashes locking with his as he lay atop me, and I remember the most tender ease into a pink and effervescent dream.
Champagne.
I remember lying about afterward, warm and soft, and the light pressure of his fingertips playing with my slightly damp, blonde tendrils.

I remember looking down to him, my vision slightly blurred.
My hair was dark, straight, and dirty.
I remember kicking open the door, and slamming it shut.
I remember my comforter like pavement, dark and dry.
I remember his hair like a hedgehog's, dark and dry.
I remember his eyes like abandoned coalmines, dark and dry.
I remember not wanting to touch him, because my hands were so dark and cracked and dry.
In a drunken haze we rolled our bloated bodies onto the bed.
And I remember what wasn't said, and I remember what wasn't felt.
Force and flex, and a dark and dry fuck.
It was over soon.

When he finally left the room, I raised my head to the mirror and saw not a girl, but a slut with a stained smirk. This wasn't champagne, this was cheap beer.
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