I waited at the back of his throat—
waited to hear him confess my name so I could come out from behind his teeth, and defend my claim
over him. Illusory love o’ mine
kept me cleaving to the bitter of his tongue; for all of her disdain he swallowed, I did
wash in, waiting.
We used to get shit-faced, and fuck each other mad, down by the river in
dew slick grass,
monstrous ‘neath the white-gold moon.
He’d give it to me good ‘til I was
howling, and scratching
bloodstained claws at that discerning watch
slung up high in sleeping cerulean.
I waited at the back of his throat—
waited for him to confess my name.
He didn’t.
Every time he chokes, he’s reminded of me.
Kindra M. Austin is an author (information on her book can be found here), artist, and a Sagittarius Valkyrie from the…
View original post 38 more words
Categories: Uncategorized
Thank you, S.K. 🖤
🖤