Flying Kites at Tiscornia

Bare feet on microscopic broken glass,

no blood spilled.

Cold waves reaching to hold yesterday’s landscape.

We race against the wind, cotton slapping our skin.

Leaves of bronze and gold mimic the dying glow of day’s end.

We floss our teeth with kite strings and kiss into knots.

We send our shirts to the skies,

pulled tight upon spare bones and driftwood.

Tangled lines and miscommunication,

face-down on the ground muttering

“I’m not good enough.”

All I can do is breathe hot on cold fingers and tell you

how much I love you with the look in my eyes.

The actual words get stuck in my throat,

tongue-tied and I wish it was tied up with yours,

we can blame the salt on our cheeks on the sea breeze.

Shifting with the whims of the wind,

I don’t recognize this place tomorrow

and you claim you’ve changed.

Kite strings like fish wire,

gutted and hung out to dry after we clash mid-air,

you blame it on your father and I ask to go home

just because I want you to ask me to stay.

Soles of our shoes worn through

slapping on pavement.

Kisses like catfights.

I want you to hurt me,

I want you to feel guilty,

I want you to break your teeth pretending to smile at prettier girls than me.

There’s a fine line between bruised and abused.

I asked for this,

little red string knotted between fingers,

I can’t remember black and nasty yellow ever feeling this good.

Kites crash, bad accident,

why do I feel deepest when you’re feeling tragic?

Hair tangled like kite strings,

I tell you it doesn’t hurt when you twist your fingers in…

gums bleeding and bare feet

the wind carries me.

You’re on the ground with frayed ends and muddled in betweens.