The Harvest She Brings



She keeps a small photograph of Ian Brady in her purse. She says it’s because she likes his mouth- how it’s turned down and just so apathetic- but I think it runs deeper than that. Still, I love her all the same. When she sticks out her tongue as we spin in circles, I pinch it between my fingers making her squeal like a naughty child. As I blink away the rain that’s running into my eyes, I tilt my head and laugh not caring about anything else. There are echoes of yesterday, and there’s loss, and no matter what we do we will be defeated. In fact, we will be crushed, and yet for some reason, we keep on spinning in these wild circles until the days blur into one and the universe is just us. We have no time for anything else because everything that isn’t us is just so boring. When I let go of her tongue, I pull her close and kiss her. She moans and groans and shakes like a cat. She bites my lips and vibrates. They say we live in a simulation. Kinda like The Matrix, but I don’t believe for a second she’s anything other than a miracle of nature. You can build yourself around a formula, and yet there are those of us whose poetry goes beyond comprehension. I can feel it in her kiss, and I can taste it when she shows herself to me beneath the full moon as it shines on us through the window. She has two mouths, and I know God in both. I’m not a religious man, and yet there are things in this life that can’t be answered. She is one.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

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