Siken Richard

Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.

These, our bodies, possessed by light.

Tell me we'll never get used to it.

We're shooting the scene where I swallow your heart and you make me

spit it up again. I swallow your heart and it crawls

right out of my mouth.

but I want it back now, baby.

An all-night barbeque. A dance on the courthouse lawn.

The radio aches a little tune that tells the story of what the night

is thinking. It's thinking of love.

It's thinking of stabbing us to death

and leaving our bodies in a dumpster.

That's a nice touch, stains in the night, whiskey kisses for everyone.

History is a little man in a brown suit

trying to define a room he is outside of.

I know history. There are many names in history

but none of them are ours.

I stare at you like I'm looking through a window,

counting birds.

The light is no mystery,

the mystery is that there is something to keep the light

from passing through

You're pulling the car over. Somebody's waiting.

You're going to die

in your best friend's arms.

And you play along because it's funny, because it's written down,

you've memorized it,

it's all you know

I touch myself, I dream.

Wearing your clothes or standing in the shower for over an hour, pretending

that this skin is your skin, these hands your hands,

night spilling over them like

gasoline