The music hummed.

The candle’s flame played between us.

I sipped a drink that tasted bitter,

like jealousy,

and told you

that I am not intimidated

by the spines

of the women

on which your vision travels.

I do not own your eyes,

your heart,

or what lies between your legs.

Knowing that your true desire lies

in resting your heart

next to mine

at the end of the day

is all I need

to keep the roar in my chest

from turning to animal instinct.

Wanting to rip apart my prey,

I spit jealousy out

and swallow something more clear instead;

the question is—

is the one who spits

or the one who swallows

the one who is more rocked

by what happens between two hearts

beating

under one sheet?

~

~

Author: Annabelle Blythe
Image: Author’s own
Editor: Nicole Cameron
Copy Editor: Catherine Monkman
Social Editor: Waylon Lewis