Iced Coffee Stains

I love lying on the floor

beside the window

tied up t-shirt, sunlight on my stomach
cheap Chinese food in takeaway containers

iced coffee stains on the rug

Re:stacks blaring in the background 
loud enough to drown most thoughts
if only I knew how to stop the sun from going down 

Raw Hands

I will remember the backseat of your car,

foggy windows and a broken lock.

My heart in your hand,

the taste of your mouth,

the love that escaped it

and found a place in me.

I will remember the November breeze,

the warmth of your body,

your tender lips,

your raw hands.

I will remember the mattress on the floor,

your yearning body,

a needle almost touching your bone.

You Are Not Your Addiction

You are not your addiction. 

You are the Bon Iver song I play on repeat.
You are the box of cigarettes I swore I’d never touch again.
You are the cup of coffee I can’t get out of bed without.
You are the gravity that holds me in place.
You are the smoke in my lungs.
You are the book I reread.
You are the last drop of gin in my glass.
You are the meals I choose to skip.
You are the sharp pain in my back.
You are the rain in November.
You are the comfort at a chapel.
You are the headache after a night of drinking.
You are the thought before I kiss him.
You are the cigarette I light after months,
the one that burns my tongue.