Imprint / Aloof

They are finally online on the Sick Lit Magazine website here. I'm sooo excited!!!

Imprint

I drove to the beach again today

and walked by the water,

just to see my feet marking

the wet sand.

I watched how

it molded

to every curve of my soles,

hugging,

avid.

I stepped on it without restraint and,

idolatrous,

it cupped my skin,

sculpting itself,

lavishing on my harsh feet its voluptuous devotion.

It reminded me of him.

It always does…

Aloof

The wind rose in the fields,

ruffling the hairs on his forehead.

The scraggly tree against his back

cracked like

the bones of a wise old man.

In the bottle between his fingers

the unforgiving liquid

swirled,

confined,

and its smell surrounded him,

riding him

with the rowdy determination of

a thousand wild horses.

«You’ll end up all alone» she’d said,

rolling dough into submission,

her hands never faltering.

The taste of whiskey

lingered

in the back of his throat,

mixed with

the deriding memory of

pecan sticky buns.

At the horizon,

deep grey threatened

the sun

away.

The bottle lifted closer,

the liquid turning

around and around,

mesmerising,

biased,

stubbornly and painfully

mute.

Suddenly,

the string of another

burning desire,

one of never-faltering hands,

pulled inside of his soul,

a cornucopia of reclaim.

The bottle wavered.

The amber liquid

sulked

like a scolded child.