(Gotta be honest, tritinas are, at this point, almost criminally easy to write.
Also gotta be honest, although this poem is inspired by an actual event, it’s more inspired by my love of dark love poems and dark love stories: Angela Carter’s Bloody Chamber and Other Stories, Neil Gaiman’s Snow, Glass and Apples; that general oevre. I love the conceptualization of love as a drug, or as something dark and terrible, something we must be careful with. I find it a fascinating concept for writing, especially when it comes to poetry, because so much of our imagery for love crosses boundaries with our imagery for violence.
But that is, possibly, a journal entry (or maybe even a thesis?) for another time.)
The sky is brushed with stormy lavender clouds high above
And your skin is sweet and cool beneath my fingertips;
I mumble something; it is unimportant beneath your dark gaze.
The grass is damp and prickly, the lights bright as we laze
Redolent and full, idly letting our lips meet between words. We recover
Stolen words and sentences mumbled in the dark at each other’s hips
And wrists and gasping mouths and teeth and trailed fingertips.
You smile, beatific as a saint, but you’ve the laugh and dark gaze
Of a demon. I giggle madly, and fall backwards, willingly, into my own love.
Above us, the sky dips and swirls into a cloudy haze; we’re too far gone to notice.