It’s no comfort – Samantha Lucero

© Samantha Lucero 2017

Sudden Denouement Collective

It’s no comfort knowing that you’re buried,
deep down, taking earth around you
like blankets that fall apart and crawl.

But seasons still disrobed like actors
backstage in a play, in front of
everyone. Even with you
gone, the world moved on.
And I watched. We all did.
Forced to watch, without you,
with seasons pouring the years
between us in vanishing old flannel,
smelling like Salem filter kings,
soft.

Spring grew through us both
like a blade.
And you died in the summer.

A diamond in that box
they buried you in, deep down,
where you fall apart and crawl, too,
by now. Still waiting to be proposed,
like the plan to go back to Santa Fe.

Sometimes I wait for you to show,
maybe at the movie I go to alone,
sitting next to me when I peek over
in the flickering dark.
You could come around a…

View original post 104 more words

smoking

i live at the end
vanishing in the bed of a wine glass,
a stuck-stain that only dissolves in hot water.
l et  t he  d a rk  o ne  i n,
& maybe your wet fingerprint can rouse me again.
i breathe deep when i’m alone because it’s the only time that i remember i’m alive. i’m here. where are you?
i want a cigarette w/ hot chamomile. it’s 11:59pm & you had a fireplace that night, naked on a floor. the miracle of sleep skips my window, no wonder. the undead mouth of my house is ice-teethed, damp skin emerging from the tub steams. it’s sharp, the air, comforting.
i want the wild-hunt smoke in my throat; the drifting dust in my head, the slit feline focus on the void that softens into ridiculed slumber. the sex/bonfire scent in my hair. dreams with no fingers; no remorse.
i want the way that it made the cold feel like part of my skin. how icy, small, spidery my hand crawls in the winter-white outside reaching thru the firmament of a ripped screen in a tiny kitchen into the starry night, hey, nice apartment. empty as my swallowed eyes.
i lived there when i could smoke.
me & van gogh & christmas eve.
i was alone then, & now
i live at the end
vanishing in the bed of a wine glass,
a stuck-stain that only dissolves with a tongue that can’t reach it.
i breathe deep when i’m alone because it’s the only time that i remember i’m alive. am i still here? are  y o u?
i want to remember what it’s like to love you, to obsess, when i’m at my best.
but love leaves like seasons.
& now i’m the tear in the veil.
the venom cup of breastmilk that waits at the last table.
of all, always ending in the end.
burn me when i die. put me in a dry merlot.
drink my ashes & tell me you’re my grave.
i live at the end
vanishing in the bed of a wine glass.


words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.