back seat blues by Beth Phillips

the pavement is decorated in past lovers,

girls like me with black-hole

hand-me-downs, with a plan far too fragile

to last the night.

 

and you taste like planes to greece,

like the tension between our teeth,

like that midnight goodbye before

you take shelter on the floor,

that penny carpet where my money

once lay.

 

we will sit and wait until you grow

tired of my body. after the storm,

you will hold me down, scream lets eat

until we ache no more.

 

watching you leave is not silent,

it is a ten-tonne motion, starting from the neck

and forcing light bulbs back into sockets.

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Follow Beth on Instagram and Twitter at @ragdollbeth. Follow Beth’s literary magazine on Instagram at @lemoncurdmagazine.