No Vampires
It is not what I expected
There is no screaming
(Unless he tickles me)
There is no fist clenched chest punching
I have not been lifted
Unconscious
out of a bath of
My own blood
Sometimes I cry and he holds me
There are no vampires
This is not an addiction
Sometimes we watch Doctor Who
And sometimes we **** on hotel beds like there’s no tomorrow
There is always a tomorrow
Sometimes I slide his hand
Up my skirt
And he says ‘Not now Baby, I’m tired’
And sometimes he finds my hair grips
Down the side of his bed
On his desk
On the windowsill
In his pockets
This love isn’t poetry
It is not thinning paper with
Bleeding ink
Nor dying trees with names carved
Into their bones
It is concrete
It is calendars filled with plans
It is hands in each other’s pockets and my lipstick
Smile staining his pillow.
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