the stars I was born under were fucking cunts

 
I was born without luck.

I had to shove a rabbit’s foot
up my ass and tape
four-leaf clovers to my nipples
just to get through the day
without disaster.

But the tape always wore out
and the rabbit’s foot gave
me crack-rot
so I made my own luck
by working circles
around anyone near me
and cutting a few well-placed throats.

Something stilled
when we stood in a steam-fillwd
shower, my forehead pressed
against your aching back
until I swore my skin
could taste your thoughts

I drew hearts on the
misted mirror
while you moved my
hair over my shoulder
and took me.

You took me

away.

To somewhere
across this astral sea
where the planks floating
in the foam were grand ships
we danced in,
laughed in,
fucked in,
where I daydreamed
I loved a man with
hands like yours
under a laughing sun

and you left me adrift
without a lifeline
because you spoke in riddles
while I screamed truth
on your flesh with my
eager tongue

you disappeared into the horizon
like a jinn, all smokeless flame
and consequences ,
time after
time after
time

and your edges never softend
lover, they never rubbed against
the sandpaper,
but they rent my flesh
in a way that made me sigh

so that the salt of my grief
keeps the pain
as fresh as
the taste of
water droplets
I kissed
from your
weary shoulders

as your voice fades
in the distance
I wish on a starless night
to have enough luck
to just breathe your exhale
one
last
time