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
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