"Owls are not what they seem"
Your silence
is my favourite sound.
Liquidised thoughts about you
form a poisonous drink
that I abuse every day.
My palm turns into a fist
as I clench my fingers
around a tumbler,
filled with melted amber
that fits my life
so well.
– Chatty Owl –
I want to break you
like the gingerbread man’s head.
Snap.
The frisky crispiness
sounds like a victory,
so I’m clapping high fives
to myself,
knowing that it’s the only way
anyone will be proud of me.
I ask you to do things
that make my eyes roll back
and my toes curl up,
but you look so stunned
and just stare at me.
Stop stopping, I say.
You and me –
we have no time
for idle moments
like this.
– Chatty Owl –
You
promised me
Carefully polished
leather and direct words
that would make me quiver.
Shivering veins of my naive young
body were promised to pump
lust and obedience – a
substance I have
never
yet
experienced
hands were meant
to be guiding me through
ups and downs of my breathing
chest, that holds a heart –
excited and fast for a
moment like this.
A mental
virginity
taken
away
from
me.
– Chatty Owl –
You hate me
for the mistakes of my grandfather
that I carry in my
mighty DNA
of numbers,
but this is me,
with my body
and voice,
and the green-ness of my eyes,
talking to you
in a voice of a girl,
poetry of a woman,
and wisdom of a human
that married my grandfather
(that you hate so much),
but you love me,
right?
So don’t judge the book
by it’s blood
-y
stains.
– Chatty Owl –
I was 17
when you bumped into me
and picked me up
like a rotten apple
from the side of the road.
Not fit to eat, but
still juicy,
still with a smell of a fruit,
under your teeth and
on your inquisitive tongue.
You observe me
as I put spells on aluminium spoons,
bending them,
like I bend men to my liking,
making me
not a witch,
but a magician of sorts.
Don’t forget,
the reality is
the invisible infinity
we all fear.
– Chatty Owl –
You say it’s so easy
to lose yourself with me.
Especially when we kiss
with our eyes open
and you know
that I’ll never ask questions,
saving you from awkward answers
as you watch me
writing
right there, by the window,
with hardly any clothes on
and armed with strong black coffee
to keep my eyes and my mind
open.
You always remind me,
that your life is a ball of yarn,
knotted together with coloured strings
of happiness,
and I often tug at it,
pulling a string or two,
making it roll my way.
I sigh
at the sight of you
getting aroused in this moment,
even though we both know,
I’m here to break your heart
and you’re here to let me do it.
Cross your fingers
as I uncross my legs,
and
if you’re lucky enough,
you won’t see me again.
– Chatty Owl –
You’re pulling strings,
subtly tugging
on my attention.
I arrest my shy ways
around you,
and we both show our smiles
in a cold morning sun.
Words weave their way
round branches
and twigs,
leaving my mouth
and floating into yours,
where you taste them
with your inquisitive tongue.
You twist my mind
into a wisp,
and I repeatedly
open my eyes,
to feel the thrill of ecstasy
(every time I do so)
of seeing you’re still here,
kissing me.
You make me sigh and lick
my lips, until
I feel the coldness of a wind
kissing me in return.
You’ve disappeared,
leaving an owl
hanging.
– Chatty Owl –
Careful attempts to come closer,
you estimate your actions,
you count your steps
while counting on my mouth,
ajar,
to invite you nearer
as I whisper you secrets
about my inner beauty
and broken parts of my heart,
making you remember
every moment
that was my past,
and now it’s going to be your future.
You put yourself above the rest,
sharing tea with me becomes
your obsession,
a herbal drug of a hooked up soul,
adjusting schedules to fit my needs,
as I adjust myself between your legs
in return.
You melt into the warmth of my skin
wanting to conquer
every living corner of my mind,
so you could fill it
with the presence of yourself,
but that’s only
if I let you.
– Chatty Owl –
I love delicious meat on a plate.
Sometimes it’s a dry turkey,
some days it’s a cock(rel).
Wet in my mouth.
– Chatty Owl –
I sit at the edge of your bed,
watching my thoughts reflecting
in your dreams.
You say I’m a witch
because of all those things
I’m capable of doing
to you and the others,
so I touch your backbone
to check,
if my spell is still present.
We are smoke-free,
yet
the room is all foggy –
like a cloud of a sexual haze
that we can’t colour any other shade
rather then this
sensual drip of a rainbow.
I’m watching you
keeping your eyes shut,
as if wanting to savour
every memory of a dream
that’s running away from you
into the autumn-scented street outside
your bedroom window –
I pinch it with my fingers,
freezing time for just a second,
and when I press it upon my lips,
it’s feels like a deconstructed kiss
goodbye.
– Chatty Owl –
CHATTYOWL 