I told you once when I was locked in a
nightmare that when you touched me
you beheaded me We were in a hotel room
and the hotel bar still stained against the
ceramic of your teeth when I pressed my
head against your chest I could still
hear its symphony
I had on a necklace with a tarot card
charm and it tangled against my throat
Maybe because of your fingers maybe
because of your breath maybe because
of my nightmares
I wished I had told you that I loved you but it was
too early the sun hadn’t even slipped
through the blinds yet your skin hadn’t
even bruised mine yet
and my throat was mangled with gold
and my head was cradled on a guillotine
and I loved you and I didn’t know any of that yet
***
Priya Ele is a New York based writer. She studies dramatic writing at NYU Tisch School of the Arts. She’s had multiple works of short fiction and poetry published and a play produced. You can find her on twitter @priyaeler
per289@nyu.edu
***
image: MM Kaufman