scribble scrabble

as long as she remembers the chair.

shes ignoring the little detail of my lips on
her neck, just as i was ignoring her silent
pleads to stop.
she’ll deny it felt so very good when i pushed
her back and fought to spread her legs. she
doesnt give a damn about the time i slid my
fingers inside her, yes, plural, she likes two
better than one,
and for the life of her she’ll never admit that
at that moment she had the orgasm
of her life,
but she remembers the chair.

scribble scrabble

resistance is always futile with her.

all evening i was foolishly, i admit, ignoring the lines of her
lips, but when she let go off her third glass of wine, forgot about
all her decisions to be a good girl and pulled me towards her,
i finally understood the definition of “insatiable”.
an adjective i gladly use for myself when it comes to the tip of
her tongue escaping her mouth, how her breath warms my lips
and the way her hips react when i reach between her legs is
simply intoxicating.
every time she moves away, i know this dance by heart. sacrilegious
but oh so much fun, id make the borg proud. she is a shot of
fireball whiskey that burns my mouth, a hangover i promised myself
never ever ever ever EVER again
and dont we all know what we do with promises?

scribble scrabble

it was worth it.

and we decided to make out in
the bathroom and listen to white stripes
on my shitty phone speakers instead
of interacting with the world.
and maybe its the molly but when the tip
of her tongue touched mine, i swear i could
feel it in my toes.
its my answer to her “i love you” that scares me.

scribble scrabble

bite my neck.

i dont want to make love, i dont want to fuck like
a married couple, i want lust, longing, desire. i want it
tell me what you want to do to me, pull my hair, call
me a slut, i want the neighbours to complain, leave
scratch marks on my back, teeth marks on my
butt-cheek, grab me by my hips and pull me towards you.
make me beg for your tongue.
i want to be sore tomorrow, let me remember you when i
walk, allow me to lust over you when i lick coffee off the
cup, come to me in the dead of night

scribble scrabble, ti

i never wanted to write our breakup poem.

almost a year ago you met the child within
me on a playground outside my window and
brought words, words i cant dare to speak yet
they stick to my fridge, the same night i kissed
your cheek, inhaled your scent and
forgot to exhale.
six months later i didnt care how this would end
cus right then and there, as you wrapped your
arm around my neck, kissed my back and said
i knew ill love you forever.
it came too soon, last week, i waved you
goodbye when you ripped my heart out with
your last glance, ignoring my tears as i walked
home and swallowing words i shouldve said,
“maybe i need you.”.
words i shouldve written in thousand posts,
formatted and proof-read by the lines of my heart,
meant only for you, but it all ends, it
always ends,
even those love songs i wrote and never showed.
yesterday i carved my feelings for you into
my skin, promising myself theyll never change,
and today,
today im writing this and i never wanted to write
our breakup poem, but here it is.
the end.

scribble scrabble

obozujem njeni ustnici.

lezi poleg z glavo na mojem ramenu, mogoce celo spi, ne vem. lasje padajo na moj vrat.
zgecka, ampak pase.
gledam neko policijsko serijo in v istem momentu, ko se zacne akcija, zacutim njeni ustnici na moji bradavicki.
nepricakovana akcija, a ne nezazeljena.
topel dah, mokri ustnici, kmalu se zraven prikrade se konica jezika. bradavico objame z ustnicama, se nikoli tako nezno, kot da bi jo spoznavala v prvo. zadrzujem dih, upocasnjujem dihanje, nocem, da prepozna, da me vzburja.
mislim, da ve.
pilot drzim v levi roki, igram se z mislijo, da ugasnem tv in se posvetim samo njej.
in ona se igra z mano.
kot velikokrat poprej in vsakic si recem “to je bilo zadnjic.”.
nikoli ne bom zvedela, kdo je res bil morilec.

scribble scrabble

Press and hold to view.

maybe s snapchat novice but a tease
expert she holds my full attention for
three seconds, dominating my imagination
till next snap. time lapse of her after
workout shower i tap the screen and
race the countdown. i screenshot her lips
with my eyes before my screen turns
to white. claims shes shy but videos of
her fingers would dispute, daily supplies
of visual incentive, adding “guess youll
never know” just to spite, a flirt too instant
to leave proof.

scribble scrabble

countdown to reality

she smells like cigarettes and mistakes, mine to be exact. her red lips vomit sweet words of abuse, burying the foundation of my desire even deeper. its easy to ignore her while she speaks, my eyes have too many places to rest upon and my imagination takes advantage of given visual material. its not long before i lure her into my bed, lift her black polka dotted skirt and take her to her final destination. she leaves bruises on my body like her own little collection of passport stamps. her post-coitus post-orgasmic sweat runs down her neck as she pulls me closer and whispers in my ear, “mine”. determined yet somewhat defeated she adds “just nod, even if its not true”.

scribble scrabble

orgazmov se ne mece stran.

ce bi se mi ljubilo razmisljati, kako deluje nerimani jambski pentameter, bi tole mogoce se imelo nek smisel, a ko zacutim njene zobe na notranji strani stegna in je ta neskoncni stavek kot tista neprekinjena slast, ko sma med premorom porivanja stene hlastali po zraku, in ko “kako si mokra” iz njenih ust zveni skoraj liricno, takrat ji dovolim, da svoj prst porine v moja usta in se igra z jezikom, ker obe veva, da je tole bolj cummings kot shakespeare in najin fuk je se bolj povrsen od moje poezije.

scribble scrabble

i fell in love once.

i wonder how many skeletons she has hid in
her closet and does she ever miss them. there
are emotions people have left with her she
doesnt try to shake off, she hoards them
gleefully. we were too impatient to wait, like diluted
coffee in the morning, stressfully unsatisfying and
bodies craving for more with bitter aftertaste. she
searches the trash bins for memories, a vague
glimpse of excitement, a certain harmony between
her fingers. she has convinced herself constant pain
is beauty, blurry eyed remembering how much my
fingerprints stung as i entered her last. i wonder if
she misses me. i guess theres something poetic in
not knowing.