HOMECOMING

By Stavria Lous

the first time, you kissed me like you had a soul

— I mistook you for a human.

You fucked me like a void,

and then I knew for sure.

Υour eyes had a devouring light,

and then they went dark dead.

I accidentally opened a drawer

and found a set of teeth.

“What’s that?” I looked at you.

“Oh, that was my aunt’s — I forgot,

and she was buried without them.

Without her teeth.”

You laughed and laughed.

“She left me this house,” you said.

They do say you have a wicked sense of humor;

a beautiful smile, white perfect teeth, and glinting green eyes.

But they haven’t been inside your home.

They didn’t see the dead cockroach you leave lying in the corner of your bed.

On purpose.

You never bother disposing of it.

I begged you to, and when you did,

you just threw it out the window.

“Wait, there are people down there!”

After each fuck,

you marvel at the stains of blood

and reach for the skull — 

casually hanging with you

in the bedroom,

like another Hamlet

— a much less noble one.

You do ponder, though.

You ponder obsessively on love and death and pain

— and not always in that order.

People also say you wear suits well.

They don’t know

how much you enjoy

having someone naked

and washing their hair

in your bathtub.

#darkpoetsclub