Hold Your Own Read Online Free Page B

because you feel like of all the people in all the world, these yearsdead writers wrote whatever it was that made the blood run in your veins again, just for you.
    And you say their names out loud when you walk the city in the middle of the night, and you feel close to something timeless;
    you feel like someone just lay you down on your back and showed you the sky.

What we lose
    When I was young
    I could speak to animals,
    these days
    I don’t know what to say.
     
    They used to sniff my ears,
    but now
    they smell my fear
    and walk away.

You eat me up and I like it
    The air is wet with pressure.
    You stare at me across the table.
    I feel like if I move
    It will begin to rain.
    You pile your fork and smile through mouthfuls.
    Overwhelmed, I lean across to press my smile against your chewing lips.
     
    The first thing I noticed about you was your lips;
    Shaking with pressure.
    Capable of mighty mouthfuls.
    I gave you my hand. All my cards were on the table.
    When we stood in the storm by the river, I couldn’t tell your kisses from the rain.
    We kept still and let the planet move.
     
    It was your move.
    You raised your eyebrows and licked your lips.
    My clothes were cold skin from all the rain.
    You grabbed me with so much pressure
    Your fingerprints stayed on my arms after you’d gone, like tea stains on a coffee table
    And my body shone all over from where you’d had your mouthfuls.
     
    You say my name in between mouthfuls.
    I feel you feeling me move.
    The books, the lamp, the whisky all come crashing off your bedside table.
    I bite down until I can taste blood on my lips.
    We tried to play it cool. We promised no pressure .
    But I couldn’t keep myself from falling. Like the rain.
     
    I lay in the dark and listened to the rain.
    Drank the night in breathless mouthfuls.
    The sky hung low and gave in to the pressure.
    I stared at your back, desperate for you, trying to make you move.
    But you were busy, chain smoking, swinging those legs off the edge of the table
    And I could feel myself burning up each time the butt met your lips.
     
    I watch your profile, the stretch of your nose, the curve of your lips.
    The walls are the colour of rain.
    I am jealous, territorial, stalking the pool table.
    Swallowing drugs in clammy grey mouthfuls.
    Eventually, you move.
    On the jukebox, Under Pressure .
     
    The train was full of people. I looked out at the rain and watched everything move.
    You smiled tiny, wet mouthfuls out of my neck, lay a coat across our laps and did it to me underneath the table.
    I couldn’t take the pressure. Your eyes were bright with guilt. I saw the smile before it reached your lips.

Fuck the poem
    I haven’t written in ages
    ’cause I’d rather stare at you than stare at pages.
     
    But what would be great is
    making a poem that could be half as courageous
    as you when you’re naked.
    I try for a minute –
     
    Your love is my metal, your kisses my rivets.
    You are like the ocean beneath the slick of a spillage.
     
    Fuck the poem.
     
    There’s a bed here
    and you want me in it.

Waking up with you this morning
    You yawn. I watch your chin obey your mouth
    through eyelids not yet sure that I’m awake.
    Small creases gossip softly on your face.
    The warmth you emanate will heat this house.
     
    I watch you coming back from where you’ve been.
    It clings to you. Your naked shoulders glow,
    catch dawn and hold it still and make it slow.
    Your eyebrows play your dreams through scene by scene.
     
    You burrow down then climb up laughing, squash me,
    your hungry kiss-mouth wanting to be fed.
    Slow and soft, you spread yourself across me
    your lips lead mine like needles leading thread.
     
    Sometimes I catch a glimpse and I’m amazed:
    I’ve seen you but not looked at you for days.

The woman Tiresias
    At first she was worried, of course.
    Dragged her shape around like chains.
    Was it real or was it magic?
    She watched herself in the windows of traffic.
    Heard the drivers call her