Last night I dreamt that I broke all your teeth
with my bare knuckles,
left your liar’s mouth bleeding and raw.
I tore that smile off your face,
I stuffed it down your throat.
Your love was like a dust bowl, dry cracked dirt
staining beige over my bones,
kissing hard ground and scorched throat,
kissing sunburnt skin.
I told the priest to soak my body in holy water,
to exorcise you with Latin chants and incense smoke.
I told the healer fix me, get him out of my skin.
I told the doctor I would swallow all the pills if it meant
that I could learn to breathe again,
could taste the air without your mouth on mine.
I told the poet, write me better.
Write me happy.
Write me whole again.
All These Words Still Taste Like You | d.a.s (via backshelfpoet)
