Voodoo God

I lie under blanket sky, and cry. It’s not fine to be left behind when it happens this frequently. I sigh, and throw the sheets to the right, left exposed in the night. I fight the remnants of ‘we’ that never was: just you and me, separated by apathy. Naturally, I exist under layers of … More Voodoo God

His Hands

His hands are new to me, but I know them well. I’ve watched them pull pints, clean glass, polish brass. I’ve watched them write words, touch his lips, sit on hips, And now they’re on me. The fingers I’ve watched be districted now focus solely on me. They search me, like I had taken the … More His Hands