blackberries and marionettes
break away from the crowd and sit with me
listen to what i have to say, to continue our conversation from before
this time i met a beautiful man at work
my uncomfortably tight shirt gripping my arms, the slinking tendrils of my tattoos peeking out from under the fabric
breaching the surface and dipping back below the waves
salt and pepper sprinkled across his hair and his beard, the smile growing across his face as my cheeks grew hotter
dirt under his nails and flecks of paint splattered across his work trousers, pockets on the thighs open and begging for attention
his keys hanging off of his belt loop, a place my eyes lingered ever so slightly too long, a selfish need to devour him possessing me
he came in again a few hours later, all fanged smiles and bright eyes, shadowed by two friends who could definitely see that he was affecting me, the aura of never being the first choice clinging to their clothes as they slunk after him, hackles raised in preemptive defence
he had joked with me about running out of booze
i had joked back, face just as red as before
the bottles of italian red that i was carrying clamouring to be closer to him
a dogfight of blackberry notes and full-bodied mouthfeel trying so hard that they almost tumbled to their demise, shattering across the floor and sending the stink of a promise of a pounding headache and a dry mouth wafting up to us
this time i am not lying to you, this man is real, not a figment of my imagination made up to make you feel something
to make you understand the butterflies that flooded my stomach, somersaults in my intestines and the sickly sweet feeling of being watched by someone that you want to watch you
to see you, to get skin deep and even further, to understand you and to become you
do you believe me this time, or have i lost your trust as an author, as a poet, as someone who strings words together to try to force you to feel
a manipulator in the best way, a puppeteer steering you exactly where i want you, strings tied around your wrists and ankles, making you stumble and stalk from emotion to emotion
fingers pointing you in the right direction, hands clasped together as i tug you through this journey, tents wrapped onto our backpacks, propane heater and dehydrated meals to keep us going for days, hiking through the jungle we call consciousness
listen to me, doll. we’ll make it out of this alive.
