Categories > Original > Poetry

watermelon seeds

by upinflames 1 review

"it'll grow out of your mouth"

Category: Poetry - Rating: R - Genres: Angst,Drama - Published: 2014-03-17 - 527 words

“Are you scared?”

Fruitless hand meets sticky ziplock bag; fresh from the Mexican stand on the blistering street corner

Grin to grin to grin and whim on whim

Burning hot summertime troubles, fierier than shame, hotter than sin

“It’ll grow out of your mouth”

Wine bottle cork bobs, suuuure, ponytailed head nods

Sweet, not-quite red, a wet cardboard crunchy

Sugarwater drips down chin, wears tacky on flesh

“Into a huge watermelon tree”

Panicking, whatdoyoumean, oh my GOD

Limbs flailing, heart racing, spine tingling

“You could die”

Shocked still, one second – two seconds – wait!

“I’m kidding!”

Tears and dread, heavy in gut

Waves = thinking-waves; not oceans or seas


Oh, I know – you say, and you say that you know, just to know what’s to know, no?

[aren’t they good for you or something, thoughts bite back while gut flip flops]

“Do you?”

Fools for trade, liars hand in hand like couples down lover’s lane, keep it in-tact

(what cocksucker, you lack tact?)

“Okay, okay. Gotcha.”

Trust the trust they’ve got for you is all wrapped up in a bow AND how can you not

The buddy boys back east have something special for the little one, honeyed and downhearted

“But you’ve got – ”

Window washers like the thrill about falling or at least that’s what they tell their wives at home

Too close, tooclose, toofuckingclose –

“There. All better.”

-settle- -breathe in- -breathe out- -you’ve still got it-

Indifference to the triviality of the unimportance, how strange is disquiet to open arms, hands, lives

Quit the purple prose, kid, close the thesaurus

“Wait, I’ve got to, just, can I – ?”

It’s a kiss. It’s a kiss.

A petal press of plush pump pink

Kept chaste, for the brevity of chastity

So when the fingers skirt the fabric, wander up and down

Feelings confused, feeling confused, feeling, feeling sensation

No one says a word

Your dad: wrinkles between brows, a pinch in his lips. Fists clenched.

Your mom: crying, shaking, your guilt personified

And think:

The French do pardon but don’t say a word to the slide of sucking someone else’s tongue

“Please, please, please”

What to beg and keel and pant and heel, kneel

If you grab my hips and steady yourself here; promise I’m not going to be disillusioned

“ … … … … … … ”

Wordless gasps and nonsensical mouthing at mine

Ruffled but not undressed, terrified

(…fierier than shame, hotter than sin…)

starved for touch, am I vulnerable?

God, I just want to touch you

Have you taken me advantage, cos I’m hurting something awful

It’s sick but can you do it again

Be sharper than my scrapes, a double edged sword gripped tight

Cut me off on a two way street

Strike away my guilt and make me pay another day

The fight or flight turned to might and blight

Gnashing of teeth, bodies pressed hard

Hands on my wrists,

And back against the walls

Hurt me

“No, no, not like that. Don’t. You can’t want that.”

"thank you":
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