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