High Friday

Naked and high on Percocet beneath 

the early morning sun.

I’m silky.

I’m smooth.

I’m more connected to my soul-my being-

my place in space and time.

I’m disconnected to my troubles and fears,

setting fire to all that disheartens me. 

I touch myself in new ways.

I explore this new flesh.

Experience sensations I’d only 

read about.

I photograph myself in new angels,

lights and filters.

It’s odd.

It’s as if I’m seeing myself reborn.

And I cried.

As the golden rays penetrated the tempered glass

of my bedroom windows, I cried.

I realised just how badly I needed him.

And not in ways of sexuality or animal perversion. 

The silent tears were paired with a salt that

stained my duvet and contorted my features. 

I cried upon realising that I care far beyond any degrees

of rationality. 

A different body, let I know it is my own.

I slide soft, cotton briefs up over my hips.

They’re just as black as my soul.

My hair is silky beneath my frigid fingertips.

I twist and turn the waves mingling the tones of

my hair, creating a symphony of colour. 

I stroke myself to climax thinking of his pale thighs

and raspberry lips. 

Sweat trickles down my back and mingles with the scent of

my body lotion that lingers on my skin and the sheets. 

My heart pounds beneath my ribs,

a sense of satisfaction in addition to the drugs are pumping 

thought me.