make ends meet

(c) 2011-2012 'Safira B'

we live our lives waiting to die
        they say
i'm living my life,
 waiting for you
                          (is that a kind of death, too?)

but isn't it morbid,
   to start with the end?

but what are you and me
  but a collection of loose moments
and words
    and touches

      and accidents? (i didn't mean to love you
                                  you don't mean to let me.)

should i talk instead about how you
feel like
             sunlight
taste like
                the rain
                on my skin? does that make it easier for you?

(we have enough endings by now
                 to start something new.)

sword clash

(c) 2011-2012 'Safira B'

i have been fighting for the longest time
enough wars to make your hearts break

                  [dawn and dusk
                        mother and father
                   sibling and child
                          ; the darkest of all crusades
                                 the most righteous of all jihad ]

   i would fight a thousand more
                         a thousand more

                                  if i could fall like a star
               or angel
                             (there isn't too much of a difference; both are so far away)

       into you
                        ; my home.
                  (heaven,
                                 jannah)

exitus acta probat

(c) 2011-2012 'Safira B'

onceuponatime.

You're afraid to fall asleep.

You are, you are, even if you try to tell Mum otherwise; you're afraid of the monsters and half-spider half-lion creatures twining around your legs and sinking fangs into your skin. You're afraid of the dark and you're afraid of the shadows and you're afraid of the way the sky goes green and blue and orange and purple in the shift between night and day -- terrified that the sun won't be able to chase the dark sky away, one day.

But, though you try and try and try, you fail each time.

And you sleep.

i.

You're awake -- or the dream equivalent of being awake -- the dregs of your consciousness and the fabric of your dreams ghosting around the edges of your body, like satin and silk and cobwebs. There is a boy -- there is always a boy, even in places that are yours and yours alone -- and he has the greenest eyes you ever did see; shining emeralds in a sea of disheartened greys.

"I am Adam."

"I am Eve."

He stares at the length of your neck, the swell of your bottom lip, the curve of your breast and sneers. Flushing with shame and disgust, you want to wrap the dream tighter around yourself -- keep this other out; chase him away with the sun. But he won't go, you know he won't, though how you know will always be a mystery to you.

Still, you can't help but stare at him from under your stupid girl-lashes, grey, cut-glass eyes reflecting his green perfectly.

...

You're awake.

ii.

"You are a very pretty girl," he says, demands, even as you shake your head. "You are." he insists.

Teeth sink into those girl-lips of yours, "well, you are a very pretty boy."

"Yes," he laughs, like gravel and dirt and whiskey, "yes, I am."

You shiver. He gives you his jacket.

You give him pink ribbons for his gold-spun hair.

iii.

"Your skin is soft and warm," he frowns, "mine is different."

He offers his arm to you, pulls your hand to run along the heated flesh from arm to shoulder to chest to hips, and over again. You frown, too, pulling your hand back.

"You're a boy," you argue, "you're not supposed to be like me."

"That's stupid. I want to be pretty, too."

Huffing, you pull off your white dress, press the bundle into his arms. "There. Now you'll look like the prettiest princess of them all."

He gives you his faded jeans, torn by the knees from overuse.

iv.

"Your hair is nice," you mourn, running impatient, jealous hands through the golden strands, "it's so very nice. A girl would want hair like yours."

He stares up at you from your lap, one hand fisted in the green grass, the blue sky catching his emerald eyes, sunlight beating down on you both. "Why would you want that? Your hair is lovely and long. I want hair like that."

You pull out silver scissors, and fear flashes through his eyes; like he's made a confession and you are to execute him for his crimes. But you simply bring the silver to your own hair, and snickt, snickt. Bring up the strands, press them close to his, and whisper by his ear, "you can, you can."

v.

"I want it," you demand, hands on his chest. He looks up at you in surprise, mouth falling open. "Kiss me. I only want a taste."

So he does, pressing his mouth against your own, sliding his tongue against your own, teeth catching on lips. Chests pressed together, skin burning, burning, burning--

--When he pulls away, you both laugh -- him like windchimes, and you like gravel and dirt and whiskey and the secret things people do in the dark places of a bar.

vi.

"I am Adam," you say, with gold-spun hair, frayed jeans, and an angular frame, voice low and drumming.

"I am Eve," she says, with ribbons in her hair, a white dress and whimsical voice.

happilyeverafter.

You're awake, finally.

almost-burnt apple pie

(c) 2011-2012 'Safira B'

1.
so, there was this car. it was a nice car. black. sleek. handsome headlights.
      the only reason i liked it was because the
      thought of you driving it gives me shivers like
                                                   i'm in a personalised winter.

2.
i think it was your eyes that i fell for first, but i won't tell anyone. if i was more poetic, i'd say shit like how your eyes had all the days i pretended to smile and all the nights i cried in them. but i'm not. to be honest, they kind of remind me of my ceiling back when i was ten, the one with the stick-on glow in the dark stars on them.
                      i f
                          e
                             l
                               l for your eyes first, and your soul second and yeah, i can be pretty poetic.

3.
last night i had a dream about our car. you know, the black one. we were lying on the hood and pulling cliches like looking up at the stars. and you let your hands take up the space between mine, like shuffling grains of sand, and i dreamt that you told me you didn't believe in wishes. that, if you wanted something, you'd go out to get it.

i woke up alone.
it wasn't a sad dream.
but i was miserable anyway.

4.
i wanted to tell you something. it was probably something important. but my tongue doubled and twisted like a cherry stem or a vine and squeezed the words to oblivion. oblivion can keep those words, oblivion can put those words where all the lost people go, where car keys go when you need them, where your left sock goes after the washing machine. i can make new ones.

they weren't important, anyway.

5.
when you're angry, you smile like knives. i wear the pants in this and i like to say that i'm always the one to find you. i am. but you're always the one to find me. and i'm the only one who's lost. your smile cuts apples into bite sized pieces and i don't lament that we're not adam and eve.

when you're happy, you smile like the sun.
we could bake an apple pie life together, if you'd like.

6.
no one's ever made me cry more than you do. 'broke my heart' is too light but 'breaking me' seems too harsh. you make me want to save myself, 'cause you're sure as hell not doing jack, to put on my rusted armour and fight the lions and wyverns and tarantulas curled around the back of my mind, because i could actually be worth something to someone.

i could cry you a river of regrets,

but we'd just keep each other afloat.

hooded

(c) 2011-2012 'Safira B'

sunburnt scarlet skies
fleeing as fierce
emeralds emerge
heralding the hues
of sapphire to sink in.

sienna eyes drinking in,
flooding with cut glass,
cool hard translucence
against leather against skin.

earthy work boots planted
firmly on inky stretch of metal,
headlight eyes flickering shut
reprieve from the thousand star
glare.

kiss-starved lips pucker up
to wrap around the bottle neck,
expectant gushing, bland, bitter
beer,
intoxicated.

tipped back, black waterfall,
curls tumble over,
pale column as an altar offering,
breaths leaving like smog,
like prayers form a cynic.

lacquered nails
tap out the low, lusty
lumbering drumbeats,
light movement on
the sleek, slick
'67 chevy impala.

harp song
carries the melody away
drumbeats
out of
place.

sunburnt sienna eyes
flicker shut
as red recedes
golden pendulum swinging
dragging a curtain of almost cobalt
more like peacocks
fanning out
yellow blurs like stars
tormenting.

fiat lux

(c) 2011-2012 'Safira B'

god asked me to bow down,

so i did and he said, you are for adam.

in my peripheral vision, you are the brightest thing in heaven, 

and i said, yes. yes, i am his.

trembling palms meet in a palmer's kiss,

and you shied away with each step i took,

adam runs his fingers across my pulse,

and you watch with hungry, thirsty eyes.

my skin feels too hot and too tight,

and i want to burst through in a symphony of light,

so that you'll look at me, so that you'll see me,

even for a brief moment.

i wonder sometimes if you can hear it,

the pathetic thud-thud of my lone heart,

wonder sometimes if it matters, you press a thumb to my sternum 

to leave a wreath of purple flowers and i don't think it does.

i remember the apple tree and your wide, wide eyes,

as your fingers spread starlight across my ribs,

and between my thighs, and your voice, exultant,

gloria patri and you are so beautiful.

beautiful. that's what you are, so bright and pure,

and when i kissed you for the first time,

my tongue snaking around yours,

you tasted like fire and mornings and the sweetest fall.

you taught me to feel, to take,

and the first thing i did was spread myself all over,

your thousand-sun skin and drag out little noises,

with my hands and felt myself roast alive.

i writhe under the canopy of your wings and grace,

as you bless me with your hot mouth in all the most secret places,

throwing my head back, i shut my eyes and pray to soak you in,

the vowels of your name fill up my throat and adam's eyes are green.

my knees burrow in the ground, brackets to keep you grounded,

and my tongue paints a honeyed molass love, and you burn,

brighter than ever, brilliantly,

and eden watches you come undone, silent and salient.

you are the heat of fire and the cool of water,

your words are slippery slick and silver-tongued,

your touch is midas-blessed and golden,

and you are mine.

god told you to bow down,

obey them

and i was in your peripheral vision,

when you said, no, i will not.

and as god turned his wrath to you,

i kept you in the circle of my arms,

and stopped praying, trying to keep you 

from being swallowed by the sea of despair.

horrified, i watched something break,

and i watched my glorious morningstar,

shatter and shine with an impure light,

you turned into the light bearer.

just when i don't think i know you anymore,

you stumble in, lips trembling and eyes flooding the earth for days,

and your fingertips mark springs of green and blue and purple,

on my arms and you say, i've never needed you more, and how do i resist?

i told you i love you,

and you brushed off my affection like a snakeskin,

and you wind down my arm, fangs sinking in,

sweet cyanide cider spilling from prayer-cupped hands.

adam's fingers trace my lips,

he walks away, cheeks stinging with shame

and anger,

in the shape of my hand.

michael pushes you through the gold gates,

and held me as hellfire burnt our hearts,

where you are, the fire only serving to illuminate the dark;

you took all the light of heaven and 

wrapped it around your broken grace,

far away from home.

i trace the red snakes around my wrists,

my lips become crimson with my heated kisses,

on your scars of love,

and if i kiss hard enough, i can almost taste you again.

i count each of my blessings carefully,

collecting them and coveting them,

and since you left,

i have nothing more to count.

my teeth bite the forbidden fruit, liquid lust burning,

and it gives me the courage to say,

i hate you; do not touch me; 

i am not for you, adam.

it should be harder to walk past those golden gates,

harder to leave eden and fall to earth,

but it's not, my morningstar,

it's not.

i left heaven for you,

and the gates of hell embraced me.

con[temporary] lucifer

(c) 2011-2012 'Safira B'

                  you are lucifer beneath my fingernails,
                  all proud and sinful and seductive,
                  all graceless and broken and wrecked.

silhouettes and shadows spill around us,

like great, sooty wings.

                  your howls are in my throat,
                  and my heart is on your sleeve,
                  and if you squint hard enough,
                  headlights can be stars, reflected
                  in kaleidoscope eyes.

and cigarette smoke could be moonbeams,

like smoky gabriels to send (m)(y)our

damning thoughts to heaven,

charcoal voice keeping this spit-slicked fire

burning through the night.

                  and if i kiss you, like i could taste
                  your soul, feel it dancing on my
                  tongue, don't judge me.

because you are lucifer beneath my hands,

all spineless, and wrecked and wrecked.

ghost of you

(c) 2011-2012 'Safira B'

i.
                                      my sleep is haunted by a burning baritone,
                                      e c h o e s in my mind's ear like seraphim song.


                                      i dream of a city of glass lit up by white fires.
                                      i dream of ivory dresses and a topaz necklace.
                                      i dream of words entwined like an ivy crown.
                                      and i l i e                                      
                                      ...because i dream of only y o u.

ii.
                                      my days are shadowed, hallowed,
                                      feet trailing on pallid grounds,
                                      lit up by moonlight,
                                      long gone,
                                      and detour signs,
                                      lead me home.

iii.

                                      i am empty;
                                      all my words
                                      are ghost-written
                                      in lemon juice.


                                      
                                      waiting endlessly to wake from a sleep,
                                      my world is without a sun.

and burn the long-lived phoenix, in her blood

(c) 2011-2012 'Safira B'

my blood is fountain of youth watered
arsenic and
the day i met you, i was reborn,
and the day i met you, i died.

ancient fossils

(c) 2011-2012 'Safira B'

you're a lazy saturday afternoon,
with a good book,
as i trace the curve of your hip;

it is written in our bones.

diamond lights

(c) 2011-2012 'Safira B'

your voice washes over me

and sparks that over-familiar fire across my nerves 

, the way the stars will burn across the sky

at the end of the world

sapphires and the sky and an ocean

unravel in your eyes

break apart and its insides leak

a new milkyway

it’s okay, it's all okay

; you're looking at me, looking at me.

thoughts flowing and linking together

a map of

amazonian rivers

rivers of pearls

and die

-a-monds and

liquid gold

a thud

ing budd

ing heart blooms into

red carnations that erupt

into bright light bursts

shards of die-a-monds

paving a povertised

improvised

road.

you're no romeo

(c) 2011-2011 'Safira B'

they’d paint you and me as
starcross'd lovers

modern day
; some stupid cautionary tale

sagittarius                                                                      aries
and
are a match made in
heaven

.

the penelope
to your odysseus
i am your
persephone,
hades.