Valentine (Juliet Fallen)

Valentine (Juliet Fallen)

Taking lessons
from her uncle, Juliet loved only
the grit-sneer and grinding
teeth-marks of rough-handling,
spitting through comfort
needing

hard percussion
and swore one day she’d kill’im
and played it out in slow-mo –
revenge’s waxen dream

the quasi-erotic
ism of blood
tempting, but in the end
dinner at the Capulet’s was
like screaming towards
hyperwaste tvworld,
too strange for murder
no matter how well-meaning.

Smoking crystal in the park
with GHB the go-go
juice of an exit-plan,
it was no
domino, game of
camouflage was deadly
serious and impersonal
as morning tea with Hitler’s niece.

When they met in the cafe
two cappuccinos wandering between
love and medication
this was just a fall of the neck,
her way of laughing
cutting short fractions
too abrupt but nothing to taint
the ice-cream
of pheromone forgetfulness:
I can, you can, just for pleasure
then go—beginnings are easy.

Stripped bright
that first morning, the usual
protection – closer than latex – melted
into a broken epiphany,
such thirst and want
instant sight everything
mapped out
in an almost sorrow
of jade, words the salt
of too much recall, her iris shine
more precise than language

but she quickly got her face
reattached, tightened up
her lips—so, wanna
drink-talk-eat-fuck just
gotta wait, just gotta
put the peel on—naked
is only entertainment
skin-up.

Romeo knew the distance
between poison and euphoria
saw exposure
would never be the death
of this fond romantic.

First Published in Cutwater Literary Anthology

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