O! ECSTASY

You people know nothing, honestly, if I hear the word ‘flood’
one more time. Fuck. I’m not God, stop confusing me with God.
I don’t wanna hear another metaphor about a dying star,
the final surge of white-hot light before darkness
eats the sky with black teeth. Spare me. What was the other one?
Your own inevitable death on a loop? It’s as if you want to die.
But I can’t birth you back to clean, honey, all I can do
is hook my thumb into your mouth to remind you that you’re alive,
but won’t be for long. Look, all I can tell you is I love her.
The sponginess of her body, how I roll around inside her like a dog
on its back before tumbling out of some unending portal
with a sour ache. Quick! Now she’s writhing, see? It’s all happening.
It’s all coming together. I’m not God, I’m the last blast of freedom!
She’d undo her whole life just to feel me catch the back of her throat.

Ars Poetica

Read then re-read these black lines till you come
right out of yourself. What do you make of this stained
mirror? Look, what of me is real? Come undone
by how you feel when I indulge some mild pain
and gorgeous memory. Look, here’s a time I felt
a married man’s tongue inside my thigh, I’m sorry.
A time I panted and gave Holly hell
with my open neck. The time he lay worried
about the way I talk to men at parties. How’s that?
Feel better? Aren’t we so the same? And if not…
don’t you feel unique now? Now your story’s due.
When did you last give in like this hot wax?
You’re so tame! Is that why I’m your bad habit?
Watch me fail deliciously, it’s okay– you can have it.

Work in Progress

How about I fix us up a couple of margaritas?
Leave your leather on the chair there.
Honey, I love that golden foam hair,
cute, you push it back when you’re nervous,
are you nervous now?

Chill, look out the window, if you look closely
you can see the Chrysler, one day I’ll take you up,
look at its steel-tip glow in the city’s
half night. Take a couple deep breaths
it’s alright.

Is that a new necklace? Lip rouge?
Come sit beside me, come on it’s Friday!
The entire city is aching to be felt,
I can taste the growing pains, can’t you?
Ah you’re so new.

Didn’t you say you liked jazz?
Want me to explain its origins?
You know, I’m distracted, I just can’t even
imagine what the tops of your thighs
look like, let me try.

Like where the sand dune meets
a grassy veranda? Cappuccino foam?
Melted milk chocolate poured over
a party balloon? A white waxed
hood in June?

Christ, there’s money there!
Let’s cheers to that, you feel so good,
cheers, ah don’t be scared, baby!
Look this could all mean nothing
if you let me.

Charlie Brogan is a poet and model living in London. She is currently studying for her MA in Poetry at The Poetry School. Her work has been featured in PEACH Mgzn, ASH, Dear Damsels, Stylist, and Aurelia.