The Scream -my voice on a Thursday
Thursdays I lie to myself
I allow moments of cockiness
To slip between the filthy sheets
Where our cats have been sick from our leavings.
Mondays, I know my place
pathetic and semi-hung over
From a party I didn’t attend
Rummaging about for a left over bagel.
A weekday hang-over (of weed)after weed whacking.
Wednesdays, I feel the evenings with giggling and sex.
Watching your eyes as my fingers slide in, just right,
Inches from your resistance.
And I feel alive watching you move into me,
Close, flat, against your flesh.
Fridays are my salvation
From a week of hell which return each Monday.
Fridays are my return to electric.
Static and bubbles before the weekend
Leaves me weak from overuse.
But Thursdays?
Thursdays are the miserable days,
I find myself falling in love with.
The evenings enchant me and I remind myself
To keep lying, keep discounting the appeal.
Thursdays feel like skateboarding on ice.
Slick, cold concrete under unsteady wheels,
My shaky legs quivering under a sport I never learned.
Being to busy with tongue tastings,
And learning how to fuck.
Thursdays feel like smoking kisses after sex,
While we shiver and watch nicotine diffuse
into the cold winter air.
It feels like freeze frame memories
Tinged with cancer and ice.
