Thursday, March 19, 2009

Medicine by Carly-Jay Metcalfe


I found a dampness in your absence, except there has never been an absence because we have not been together. It is a

selfish love; a love so sharply cut it could shine as blood does at dawn. It hurts just as your jaw would have when it was

scored by a switchblade.

You come to me at night time, where the colour of night melts into that cleft in your chin. Your ripe face and weighty torso

unfold in awkward moments like a cat in a trap – this is how I imagine us to be. The cleave in your chin plugs with my juices;

your humid and desperate breath pushing deeper into creases where a brush of your lips or a sweep of your tongue make me tug

at your hair. So I do that, making you hungrier still, so the stubble on your chin roughs up my cunt.

I would be lying on my side, squashing your head with my thighs; your jaw in a lock where I can’t and won’t release you until I have

gushed all over your battered face. I crave our early morning wrestles – such a good fight; one I can always win. But until you come

to me, I’ll dip my fingers into my folds and taste my own medicine.

I itch with disappointment because I know my medicine will never be as sweet as yours.

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