Leak

eyes suffer
for the colors of a room

time is that boy on my back
and the other laughing red
into the face of my  panic

     he is laughing

comedy of a stolen girl
moving violet magnets on a lemon
yellow refrigerator door
to convince self, sleep is gone.

would scream or scratch
but words and motion leave
this room gray and white
and my mouth dry in cotton

legs kick and fail targets
as tangible becomes harder
on my spine.  the firecracker
of shattered bottles.
the smell of beer leaking
under toes and secrets
until sex becomes a darkroom
of sobs and cold feet,
leaving a heavy claw
of silence seeping
into my bare chest.


revisitation.

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one. january. 98.
(c) denise angela celeste