april michelle bratten
I said to him that traces of my skin
must still be lodged between his teeth,
because he took me fully into his mouth,
savoring every taste
until he was completely satisfied.
I can still recall the last night
his lips extracted
and hovered over my own.
He spoke of the desperation filming over my eyes,
a drapery to blind my cardboard lust.
And then a bead of sweat
dribbled from his chin,
and now, I fear, it has completely sunk in.
He is refined.
He smells of rain.
My touches vaporize from damp skin
with the passing of each night.
I am, simply and still,
the sweet dew
that nestles itself onto his upper lip.
I will always levitate, offering my hands,
but I must remember,
that each time we dare to freeze again,
there is nothing left to grieve.
I hear the muted crunch of snow underfoot
as December marches before us.
April Michelle Bratten studies poetry and literature at Minot State University in Minot, North Dakota. She has been published in several online and print journals such as Prick of the Spindle, BluePrintReview, Thick With Conviction, and Kill Poet. April currently co-edits the confessional online literary journal Up the Staircase.
back to issue 8
take me home