(Running) After Catullus (With a Knife)

(Running) After Catullus (With a Knife)

I will not let you come again, I swear —
Go, whisper to my tender bruised door
Darken it with feathered flatteries 
Fill it like ashtrays with your silhouette for a week and more
And see if someone answers — I will not.

 

Each ink-drenched kiss you stick me with
You’ll see it only makes me brittle, Sweetness,
Not quite the writhing/smiling/drowning you
Expect from your exquisite Rothko reds.
And when you say you picked them out to show the world my eyes, quote,
“How [you] see them”, unquote, I can only think
So what’d you need me for?

 

I know, I think too thinkingly for you —
Too firm, too forced, too formally aware,
Like lunch left in the pan too long after the timer didn’t ding, and now
As you cut into me I turn
To stale rubber in your stale mouth.

 

That’s true at least, Sweet:
I’ve known people to chew on me for years, and still leave
Only the scars of their teeth.

 

 

Open Doors – Vilhelm Hammershøi
you never call, you never write...

(get in touch!)
you never call, you never write...

(get in touch!)