Absinthe On The Backseat Poem by Miss Fairytale

I want questions about my purple gashes
And the gaps in my skin. I want you
to kiss the red-brown crust and tell me
It’s beautiful. The way you say I’m beautiful.
I’ll tell you the secrets of my flesh
without shots of absinthe in the backseat
of your car. I’ll wear clothes and pull my skirt up
So you can feel the scabs, the lines
Purple. Claret.

I tried not to bleed on your sheets
To leave fat imitations of my legs
On your washed and ironed bedspread.
My thighs ached so much that night
(holding in their poison)
From holding you in place
beneath me.

There are always questions in your lips
The wrong questions. I want you
To give me painful questions
So you can kiss the scabs on my thighs
With your warm fingertips.


27th June 2007