Corner Pocket

By Jesse Johnson

I’ve bitten my fingernails right down, down to you
and I can’t stop moving
Culled all my sulky inclinations
Thought I did, thought I eliminated it/them/I guess
Some things will always feel comfortable

Familiar wall for my back to recall old flame,
Allure is ebbing truly
All I’m missing is sleep and the chance to repeatedly
Pick and unpick all my seams.

I drummed my fingers on the window, eagle-eyed raindrops
as they hurled themselves into traffic and smiled, uneasy
I braced myself and drank myself colossal
I knocked and you opened, all nervy, distracted
I told you how good dinner looked
You asked if I’d changed my hair
She was there and she was lovely
I liked her immediately
But when she walked out the door she took your lungs in her fist
You lost the fever in your cheek
You went to bed early
I smoked and I drank in your honour and tried to be

You get a little mean when you get a little scared
You’ll be meaner if you don’t try a little harder
To kiss her.

I left for the veil, corner pocket, aphotic
I scaled the stone steps to your new place
You always seem so happy to see me
Even at three in the morning
Seven years of I miss you’s and fuck you’s
I said I felt lost and you let me fall asleep on you

Leather stealth trench for bruised up twin shoulder
I flew down those steps, shallow breath
For another backseat and the schism of the Vault
Starred, relic from night smoked down to the filter
I shivered unwillingly, hands under my jumper
My key in the lock and the throe in my legs
The last five days, insistent passengers
Head replete with the green of your eyes.

Metior Magazine