Christopher Twymon  

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            Chest to chest, your mouth brushes mine. You’re warm. I sip sunlight from your closeness, lips like the last drop of honeyed wine. The need lurking within you envelopes me, feeding from my essence, whispering for me to give in. Light scaring the dark. You want what I am not. But I try        

            Entangled in love, I hiss many deaths between your teeth. The force of you like ivy on brick, crumbling the very foundation of self. I cannot love you unconditionally. But I want to.

            I almost wish to fade into your perfect world of rose petals and soft smiles. To float forevermore behind white picket fences and thickly sweet apple pies. I see the chains you drape across ankle and wrist. Like thread, they weave with a silken caress promising a happiness that does not exist. The lies you tell falter me only because somewhere I wish they were true. The little one still frolicking along secret gardens of strange yards, searching for a fairytale ending. But I am not stupid.

            You tighten your arms like I am still present. No, I have fallen. I pass the touch of your shorn hair and fluttering hands. The bite of a mother’s rigid words. I dodge the feel of the familiar man’s unwanted attention. Below the surface of comforting rimy obstruction, I sigh and push you out. Completely and utterly. Three tears freeze on my cheek, trapping my foolish dreams. I am sorry, my love, but my wings are not white. I can only watch you soar in a realm of your creation. I stand on frigid ground, fighting the love I’ve always wanted. But I must be free.