ARAMINTA MATTHEWS

Translucence

Wilting eyes.
The lies purged from her lips
have been tarred and feathered.
She is golden,
good to go.
Kissed with blissless lips,
I lied to him.
Muttering words of love,
Unlove.
I left him on the shelf,
by a bottle of valium and
a book on the fall of the Roman Empire.
He kissed me,
loved me,
couldn't get enough of me.

Lilting voice,
filthy fingertips penetrated
and he inhabited me.
But she . . .
Oh woman, Frailty
is not thy name.
Touches,
whispersoft and catlike
I want to caress you.
Drink you, I must confess.
You have me jumbled.

I stumble for the door,
trying to stall.
Avoid the small talk,
It clings to your flesh
like his hands.
I feel like a whore.
Mary Magdeline was a whore,

He is looking at me.
His eyes are pounding nails.

I am in the sink,
rinsing off his skin like dirt
Unclean,
Screaming
Seething heat.
I am trying not to think.
Burning off my skin, I'm
burning out my thoughts.
Maybe I will leave
just a little
cleaner.

Her eyes are on me.
An unspoken language.
Tracing paths along my body
with a pencil on paper.
I want to feel her deeper.
I want to escape him,
fold my body like a paper crane
and slip through the cracks
in the floor.
I am hunted.

Artemis
I cry to her,
at night when the pale glimmer
of her eyes keeps me awake.

She never makes it
safely to my head.

I stumble out of bed.
Part of me makes it to the sink.
He is there.
Tangled in my hair,
and I have to wash him
off my skin, out
of my hair.
Tears cannot satisfy
my need for cleanliness,
and I am standing
next to God with it.

Artemis awakens,
restless.
Come here,
Let me kiss you.
I will sweep him under the rug
when I do the cleaning tomorrow,
She says.
I do not answer her.
Wordlessly,
I make
my way
to the sink.
Pressing my lips to the faucet,
I take a sip.

I kiss my own lips.
She is cold
as glass gets cold in winter.
I return to bed.
Undead.

The undead things haunt me.


I can feel him inside,
forcing his way in
trying to push me out.
I let her kiss me.
I let her make promises.

Tomorrow,
if she sweeps him under the rug,
will I believe her?

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