Art by Molly
I am in lust.
Your cookie dough name caresses my tongue.
We would put Tom Ford advertisements to shame.
Every evening we could eat ice cream and waste cheap wine.
Then I’d shower in your scruffy face, strong hands, and crooked teeth.
Perhaps I’ll tattoo the resultant bruises on my chest and openly flaunt them.
I can always just tell my mother I “burnt myself while straightening my hair.”
I’m even contemplating holding hands with you… in public.
I just want to sanitize my body and heave.
My throat stings every time I run your razor sharp name along its veins.
Your previously busted, currently deformed clavicle sickens me.
You lodged your nasty cigarette spit in between my molars.
And now you’re trying to stab your claws through my fist.
I’d rather sit alone with my pet snake and knit.
I’m such an idiot.
– Shelby Kern, Contributing Writer/ PR Intern ; you can find her blog here.